


What does it feel like?

by wretcheddyke



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Edging, Embarrassment, Emotional Slow Burn, F/F, First Time, Porn with Feelings, Sex, Smut, Strap-Ons, Top!Yaz, fuck buddies to lovers???, getting caught, new body, slight whump, sonic used as a vibrator, very needy doctor, yes they fuck in every chapter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-21
Updated: 2020-07-10
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:25:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 28,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23250115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wretcheddyke/pseuds/wretcheddyke
Summary: something gets awoken in the Doctor when her and Yaz collide AKA 'what do boobs look like (im a visual learner btw)'
Relationships: Thirteenth Doctor/Yasmin Khan
Comments: 21
Kudos: 208





	1. Fireworks

Adrenaline rushes through Yaz's system as she sprints towards the tiny blue box ahead of her. The alien behind her—green and fat with bulging eyes and a thin long neck—waddles on her tracks with astounding pace. The TARDIS doors swing open, Ryan, Graham and the Doctor stand inside, waving frantically for her to hurry up. _“Yaz, Yaz!”_ Breath ragged; heart pounding; she’s there, leaping into outstretched arms. Ryan’s hand’s on her sleeve, Graham’s her shoulder, and she’s propelled into the console room at speed.

Her shoe catches on the door frame and her body is thrust towards the floor, towards the Doctor. The next thing she knows is her cheek pressed into the woman’s abdomen, shoulder shoved into her crotch, and they’re tumbling backwards towards the floor. 

“Blimey,” Graham quips as the TARDIS doors slam behind her, “you two alright?”

The zipper of the Doctor’s culottes digs uncomfortably into her right eye and her wrist aches. She wiggles her fingers to find them trapped under the weight of the Doctor’s body; her arm having slipped between her legs. She raises her head to look up at the woman sprawled on the floor in front of her. Her face is smothered in panic, or perhaps offence—anger, maybe? It’s an expression Yaz hasn’t seen on the Doctor before so she leaps away. 

“M’sorry!” She removes her hand from behind the Doctor, sliding back between her thighs carelessly. The Doctor opens her mouth to speak but quickly snaps it shut. It takes her a beat to form words as they both scramble to their feet, Graham lending a steady arm. 

“No—no worries,” the Doctor smiles a flustered grin, shaking her head. “Slitheens at bay. All safe,” she sways on her feet, blocking everyone’s path and keeping them crushed up in the TARDIS entrance—Yaz swears she sees the Doctor’s eyes scan across her body and she looks at the boys to see if either of them noticed.

“Doctor?” Ryan asks impatiently, gesturing to the TARDIS controls. _Clearly not._

“Yes? Oh! Yes—Slitheens. On it.” She turns on her heels and heads into the TARDIS, fist clenching at her side a few times. 

_That were weird._

****

The Doctor’s tea is a rich brown. Two bubbles swirl as the liquid spins around her mug along with the movements of her spoon. Flashing images of Yaz's face between her legs—dark eyes peering up at her—project onto her vision like inserts on a film tape. 

“Doctor?” Yaz's voice—too real to be from memory. Her eye’s snap up, hand flinches and the teaspoon is sent dancing across the table, leaving blotches of tea in its wake. Her fam are sat around the kitchen table, cups of tea and used plates scattered between them.

“Hmm?” The Doctor raises her eyebrows, ignoring the spoon. 

“You alright, Doc?” Graham asks. 

“‘Course! What we talking about, then?” She carries her tea over to the chair between Ryan and Yaz. 

“Explaining online dating to this old man,” Ryan explains. 

“Just wait until holographic projection is invented. Totally redesigns the long-distance relationship.”

“Like we’d need Ryan’s chat ups in 3D projection,” Yaz jabs with a grin. 

“So you are quite the player then, ay son?” Graham cackles at Ryan’s cocky shrug. 

“What can I say? Can’t help if the ladies are drawn to me, can I?”

The Doctor looks Ryan over; takes in the sight of him; smooth skin; dark eyes; toned muscles visible even under his long sleeve shirt. He’s attractive. On paper. She replaces Yaz with him in that scorched image in her mind; imagines it’s him between her thighs. She tries to imagine how it would feel it touch him— 

“Doctor, what’s wrong?” Yaz is suddenly leant in, worry splashed across her face. A hand reaches out to rest on the Doctor’s knee, drawing her out from the depths of her mind. She feels the contorted grimace on her features as she’s dragged back to reality. 

“Oh—Sorry,” she replaced the frown with a plastered smile. The amalgamation of being caught daydreaming, Yaz's intense concern and the hand on her knee overload her. “Just daydreaming—You know me!”

“See? I inspire it,” Ryan snarks and group erupts with groans at the insinuation. 

_“Ryan,”_ Yaz scolds.

"Alright. Enough of that.”

The Doctor lets out a nervous laugh and shakes her head. 

****

The Doctor’s stood at the controls of the TARDIS, eyes fixed on one of the moveable screens, fingers delicately scrolling with a mouse ball. It’s late—or early, depending on how you look at it—and Yaz can’t sleep. She hesitates when she sees the Doctor. All day the woman had been distracted, disappearing off into her thoughts, having odd responses to casual questions. That looked she’d given Yaz when they’d collided wasn’t right either—all panicked and angry looking. _What did that mean?_ She’s about to open her mouth when she sees a graphic on the screen: a drawing of a woman lay on her back, eyes shut tight, hand disappearing off the screen between her legs. 

_A few easy techniques to start with: Try taking your pointer or middle fingers and moving them in gentle circles on…_

Yaz's jaw goes slack. A million thought’s rush through her head. A million images, too. _Stop it, Yaz._ She’s frozen. Split between disturbing the Doctor, guaranteeing an awkward interaction, or walking away, risking getting caught sneaking off. 

“Hi!” She blurts before she can dally any longer.

The Doctor just about jumps out of her skin, “Yaz!” She half spins, one hand attempting to cover the screen, the other tapping furiously on the mouse until the computer finally goes black. “Up late?!” Her voice is about 3 octaves high than usual. 

“Making a cuppa! Want one?” Yaz realises hers is, too. 

“Love one!” She replies much too quickly and there's a beat after where they both realise neither of them want this.

Social niceties prevail, as they so often do, and the pair comply with the task of drinking tea at 2 am while ignoring a rather large elephant in the room. 

“So, how are ya?” Yaz slides the brew across the kitchen counter.

“Me? I’m great. Grand. Why do you ask?” She takes a sip. _Unconvincing_. 

“You’ve just been a bit distracted is all. We defeated the Slitheens, Doctor. You should be celebrating,” she sips her tea, realises she put in much too much sugar, and eyes the Doctor carefully. "It’s not anything we’ve done, is it?” She asks, remembering that angry look.

“Yaz, no. Of course not.” Her eyebrows contort in pained authenticity that tells Yaz even the idea she could fuck up simply isn’t plausible.

She lets out a relieved sigh and asks, “it’s not… what you were reading about, is it?” Relief suddenly turning to confidence. 

The Doctor’s face flushes red and she instinctively pulls back, crossing her arms over her chest, “I were just… I’m new to this body.” 

“I understand. I mean, I don’t. But I can imagine,” she tries on a reassuring smile, isn’t sure if it works or not, “y’know, I’ve had my body for a while now, so if you’ve any questions…” Yaz isn’t sure what she’s offering but some small part of her knows whatever the Doctor asked she’d happily oblige. 

“What does it feel like?” The Doctors eyes are a little wider than usual, puppy-ish but certainly not innocent. 

Yaz considers asking for clarification on ‘it’ but the blush that rests around the Doctor’s neck is explanation enough. She puts her tea down. “Well, it’s like… fireworks. I don’t know about guys but, for me? I get goosebumps everywhere, across my chest… down my thighs. It starts hot, like my hearts gonna explode in my chest. Warm fuzzy feeling down my legs. My muscles contract—totally out of my control. My back arches like crazy. Legs kick open just so I can get more. ‘Cos I need more… even when it’s too much. And then sometimes it feels cold, and I’ll shudder. Shiverin' with m’skin on fire. It’s almost painful, sometimes, when I get to the very brink and I’m pleading—even when I’m alone—for some release. And then I tumble over the edge and it’s like an elastic band being cut and everything... sparkles.” 

The Doctor’s breathing is laboured, pupils blown wider than she’d ever seen, face red, legs tightly crossed, an almost pained expression on her face. There’s a long silence where neither of them seems to know what to do next. Yaz can feel her heart beating in her chest; can feel it between her thighs, too. 

“I should go n…” The Doctor rises from her stool, doesn’t finish the end of her sentence before wandering off through the TARDIS corridor, tea left still steaming on the counter. 

Yaz lets out a deep sigh. _What the fuck._

****

Her fingers tap across the sheets, open palm against cool linen.

_It’s fine. You used to do this all the time—_

_Yeah, not with these bi—_

_Shh, Doctor. Ok, I’m distractin’ myself._

She undoes the fastening on her trousers, pragmatically pushing her hand down the front of her pants. It feels… moist? No, not moist— _hate that word_ —wet. It feels wet and warm and… something else she can’t quite—

_Oh!_ Her legs jolt when she drags her fingers up, gliding over something hard, something sensitive. _That’s different._ She remembers the article she’d read— _gentle circles_ —and rubs over the sensitive spot. It’s good—too good, it’s all harsh jolts and then nothing at all. The muscles in her thighs twitch whenever she presses just so and her hearts start to beat a bit faster. Her mind jumps with the friction as she rubs faster and faster, tingles drift across her body in waves

_It starts hot, like my hearts gonna explode in my chest. Warm fuzzy feeling down my legs._

_“Oh, god,”_ Yaz's face is back between her thighs, dark eyes looking up her body—

_And then sometimes it feels cold, and I’ll shudder. Shiverin' with my skin on fire. It’s almost painful, sometimes, when I get to the very brink and I’m pleading—even when I’m alone—for some release—_

“Yes…” _Stop it, Doctor. Stop, that’s not right,_ “No, please… Please, Ya—” She yanks the hand back in horror before the name can tumble from her lips, hearts beating in her chest like hooves across muddied fields. Her wet fingers lay dormant at her side as she stares up at the ceiling. _Shit._

****

Lights flash dramatically and Ryan could be forgiven for thinking he’d woken up in one of the local grime clubs he frequents in Sheffield. He’s still in the TARDIS. A malfunction of some kind forcing a bumpy ride on its inhabitants had thrown him off balance, knocking him out cold on the way down. 

_“Stay down!”_ Graham shouts in his direction. He’s crouched a few feet away, holding on to some piping for dear life. 

Across the TARDIS console room, the Doctor rides the waves of turbulence like a surfer. Flicking switches here and there, she turns only when a strangle cry announces itself behind her.

_“Doctor!”_ Yaz is pinned against the TARDIS wall, g-force pushing her head to one side.

_“Yaz!”_ The Doctors instincts betray her as she takes a poorly calculated step forwards and gets thrust into the same position. Her body collides instantly with Yaz's, hips and shoulders flush together. She raises her hands either side of Yaz's chest and pushes back just enough to be able to see the woman beneath her, not strong enough to pry her body away against the force of the gravitational pull. _“Just hold on!”_ Her voice is frantic, riddled with energy as chaos consumes them.

But— Her voice had been riddled with energy long before she’d lost control of the TARDIS. Frenzied dotting about and sharp eye movements filled her morning. Helped no less by Yaz's infuriatingly cool demeanour. She sees it now, that air of confidence, as they spin uncontrolled through time and space, a slight smile playing at her lips despite the danger. A knee slides up between her thighs, hits her right at her centre… right where her fingers had failed her the night before. It sends jolts of electricity dancing through her and she allows her head to fall forward against the wall next to Yaz's. 

If her eyes could roll back into her skull she’d let them. Instead, her eyelids flutter— _“Yaz…”—_ and the last bit of oxygen remaining in her lungs is released. The knee presses harder and Yaz's hands on her hips—steadying her or pulling her impossibly closer? Not being able to gauge the situation in the chaos around her, the Doctor panics and blushes when her hips grind down against Yaz's knee of their own accord. She hopes the other woman can’t tell how flushed she is, how desperate she is, how— 

A sudden jolt—the Doctor and Yaz are torn apart and thrown to the floor—and the TARDIS is completely still, humming peacefully as if nothing had happened. 

“What in God’s name was all that about?” Graham asks, dusting off his jacket and wiping his brow. 

Yaz shoots her a dark look—a smirk tempting her face—and it steals the Doctor’s reply from her lips. 

****

The alien planet they step out of TARDIS onto is hot. Yaz feels warm, dry heat hit skin as soon as the doors open and she is suddenly hit with a wave of nostalgia for family holidays in Spain as a child. 

“Cor, blimey! I could get used to a bit of this,” Graham raises his palm to block the rays of the four suns shining down on them. 

The floor underfoot is grey rock, hard and dusty. “Can we go to the beach?” Ryan asks. 

“No water here on this planet, unfortunately. But there’s sun loungers and a cocktail bar in the TARDIS.”

It’s not long till the group are laid out side by side on colourful, flimsy sun loungers like a missing beach boys album. Ryan and Graham are down to their shorts, Yaz is in her bra and her sole pair of summer trousers.

“Aren’t you hot, Doctor?” Yaz peers over at the woman next to her, one eye squinting under the suns. The Doctor is laying with her ankles crossed, boots still laced and her long sleeves still down around her wrists. The coat was discarded in the TARDIS, at least. 

“We run cooler, us Timelords,” she says. Yaz is pretty sure she’s exaggerating when she spots the shimmering gleam of sweat that resides across her forehead. “I’m just gonna… er… check on the…” She gets up to disappear inside the TARDIS, wobbling slightly as she stands. 

Yaz immediately recognises an opportunity to talk to the Doctor alone. She starts counting to sixty as to not make things obvious but when she looks around to see both men spark-out she shakes her head and decides it stupid.

She’s greeted with the image of the Doctor sitting on the TARDIS steps, fanning herself with Graham’s newspaper. 

“You liar,” Yaz jibes. 

“Pfft. Just felt a bit queasy is all, sure I’ll be fine,” the Doctor says, doing everything to avoid looking at Yaz's body.

“Yeah, that happens when y’sunbathe with your boots on,” she laughs, “I don’t want you to feel awkward.” She can feel the tension growing again. This energy the Doctor keeps exuding, she can’t tell if it's to do with her or if the Doctor is just… off, for some reason.

“No it’s not—I’m not awkward,” the Doctor lies. Such an outrageous lie in fact that Yaz laughs out loud. 

“Alright,” she says, reaching out a hand, “let's find y’some beachwear for the planet without a beach.”

The Doctor takes her arm and she tugs at her, pulling her to her feet. Their proximity is close, the heat from the Doctor’s body feeling hotter than the four suns beaming down on the back of her calves. That panicked, dark look is in her eyes again and it takes Yaz's breath away. They hold eye contact for what feels like minutes; both searching the other’s gaze for a sign, some instruction, permission, perhaps. Yaz's fingers stay grasped around the Doctor’s forearm and vice versa as if they’re making a pact. And then—everything turning from dream to reality—Yaz feels the Doctor pull her arm down, fingers sliding to around her wrist, pushing Yaz's hand down to cup the Doctor’s cunt over her trousers.

She lets out a gasp—“Oh my god, Doctor!” Before she knows it they’re apart again. She can’t tell if the Doctor had pulled back or if she’d ripped her hand away.

“I’m sorry!” The Doctor is still wide-eyed, “I”m really sorry, Yaz. I—“

“No—It’s fine!” They stare at each other for the longest time. She remembers the silence in the empty TARDIS kitchen, the disappointment she felt watching the Doctor's tea go cold, alone. “It's fine,” she repeats, more authentically this time, and takes a step forward.

The Doctor eyes her wearily, makes to move to greet her, “I swear I didn’t mean to—”

Yaz makes her intentions clear by running her fingers across the waistband of the Doctor’s trousers. Her hands hang loosely by her sides as if she refuses to embarrass herself again but she gives a small gasp when Yaz's fingers tug at the fabric. “Do you want me to help you?” Excitement and a splash of power exhilarate every nerve in her body. 

The Doctor only nods. 

“Okay,” Yaz says softly, “take me to your room?”

The energy is serious as the pair enter the Doctor’s bedroom. It’s a circular, comfortably small, the same mechanical crown shyness pattern across the walls. The Doctor walks in first, pacing a little across the space at the end of her bed. 

“Take y’top off,” Yaz commands, surprising even herself with the sternness in her voice. _Where did that come from?_

The Doctor pauses for a second—split between embarrassment and relief at finally being told exactly what to do—before peeling the double layers from her body, up over her head. Her arms are slim but toned much like her abs that slink away into barely visible ribs. Her skin is pale and littered with rich brown birthmarks, dotted across her body like stars across the universe. Yaz is hit with the want to kiss each one. 

She steps forward to touch the Doctor, moves her by the shoulders like a prop so she’s stood at the foot of the bed. “Kick off your boots,” she commands again, watching the Doctor lose a few centimetres of height as she does so. Her hands glide under her arms and around her back to unclasp the white cotton bra. “We can stop whenever you like,” she reassures her as the fabric slips down slim arms. 

After securing a dumb nod from the Doctor, Yaz lets her eyes wander across the newly exposed skin, breath catching in her throat as she does. Her breasts are small but perky in a way Yaz is immediately envious of, rosy nipples hardening under her gaze. She doesn’t touch, instead lets her hands move purposefully to the fastening on her culottes. She’s gentle, undoing the zipper painfully slowly, hooking her thumbs into both waistbands and then gradually sliding the Doctor’s trousers and underwear down her thighs in one go, giving her every opportunity to protest. She doesn’t, of course, the Doctor’s breathing is already laboured which is only magnified by the silence that surrounds them.

Yaz lends her a hand for balance as she steps out of her clothes. Suddenly aware of how naked she is, a blush radiates up to her cheeks. She feels like she should make a joke or say something witty or sexy but The Doctor blushing is somehow the most intoxicating thing she’s has ever seen. All she can do is lean in and place a kiss on the Doctor’s collar bone. It incites a gasp immediately from the Timelord and Yaz gets a taste for just how much she’s going to enjoy this. 

“Here, lie down,” she directs and the Doctor shuffles back up the bed. Yaz is soon on top of her, one knee dangerously close to her core, hands on either side of the Doctor’s head. “Y’ready?” 

“Yeah,” the Doctor sighs and nods frantically and Yaz can already see her squirming beneath her, “Yep, very ready.”

Her mouth makes contact with her neck and her knee presses against her core simultaneously, eliciting a deep groan from the Doctor. She stays there for a minute, kiss up and down her neck, revelling in watching the grinding of her hips against her thigh. They buck suddenly when Yaz dips down to flick her tongue over a nipple.

“Hm, that’s… good,” she sighs so Yaz does it again, sucking the nipple into her mouth and swiping her tongue around it, “Oh!—that’s really good… _Please_ , Yaz,” the Doctor begs— _the Doctor begs._

It sends a rush of adrenaline through Yaz's whole being and even if she longed to keep the torture going she couldn't resist finally dipping her hand down between the other woman’s thighs. She’s hot and wet and slick to touch, Yaz's fingers glide over her with ease. She runs long slow lines up and down, through the Doctor, spreading her around until she’s learnt all the sweet spots that evoke the loveliest sounds. One spot, in particular, sends visible goosebumps across the Doctor’s chest and Yaz begins small, rhythmic circles there.

“What do you need?”

“Hm, harder… maybe?” The Doctor says through pants and Yaz obliges, adding a little more pressure to her clit. “No—not harder… faster.”

Yaz smirks and eases the pressure. The Doctor is getting louder and louder and what started as repetitions of Yaz's name has morphed into strangled moans. Yaz has never heard anything more beautiful in her life. She can feel the Doctor’s body beneath her start to twitch and spasm, her legs are flung wide apart and her back arches dramatically off the covers. She thinks briefly about slowing things down and drawing things out longer—she hasn’t even been inside her yet—but she knows this tension has been building far longer than the two minutes they’ve been here and— 

_“P… pl…”_

She’s scared the Doctor might combust in rage and despair if she stops now. So she speeds a fraction more and before she knows it the Doctor is silent; face red; veins on her neck bulging; head tosses back into the pillows. Yaz's fingers don’t stop as she rides out her orgasm, she can feel the pulsing of the Doctor’s cunt beneath her fingertips. _Fuck that’s hot._ She keeps her position there for a while, causing one final shiver as she removes her hand, waiting for the Doctor to look up. 

“Hi,” Yaz greets her with a smile when she finally does, laying her body down next to hers. 

The Doctor’s cheeks flush all over again when reality settles around her. “Like fireworks,” she says with a little laugh, still out of breath. 

“Like fireworks,” Yaz repeats and the smile cursing her face is entirely out of her control. 

“…I’d never wanna do that with Ryan,” the Doctor frowns suddenly, her usual bubbly self suddenly returning. 

“Doctor! I do _not_ wanna be thinkin’ about Ryan right now!” Yaz lets out an astonished laugh. 

“Glad we’re in agreement on that then,” she smiles.

“You really are a bit different, aren’t you?” Yaz can’t help but take her in; this beautiful, bizarre creature. She tucks a dishevelled lock of blonde behind her ear. 

“Thank you,” the Doctor sighs in a rare moment of calm. Yaz isn’t quite sure what she’s being thanked for. She realises she's never been this close to the Doctor before. Her eyes are deep and translucent and are filled with flecks of gold. She can see the individual eyebrow hairs, the tiny pores, the baby hairs that frame her face. She knows she must be staring but the desire to note every detail of her face is impossible to resist. The silence is breathtaking as they lie there. After a while she realises she’s never seen the Doctor quiet either but here she rests, arms at peace by her naked body, looking at the ceiling, content in contemplation. 

_“Doctor!!”_ The frantic voice comes bouncing through the TARDIS hallways, a ball in a reckless game of squash. The Doctor’s muscles instantly flex next to Yaz as she starts. 

“That doesn’t sound good,” Yaz observes as she watches the controlled movements of the Doctor’s form gliding off the bed towards her discarded clothes. She’s unbelievable in her manoeuvres, muscles sliding over bone, skin taught across her waist, across her arms. Yaz thinks she could watch the Doctor forever. 

“No, it doesn’t,” the Doctor replies as she zips the front of her culottes. Strands of blonde hair dangling across her face as she pulls her t-shirt over her head, no bra. “C’mon then,” her face snaps up, excitement filling her eyes, “better get a shift on!”


	2. Expertise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> yaz realises the control she has over the doctor (and how much she enjoys it)

It was eight hours later when the fam had returned, exhausted from rescuing Graham from the clutches of a revenant sandman. They'd trundle into the TARDIS, parched and rather sunburnt, propping up a bruised Graham between them. 

“I promise, I could’a sworn those sandmen went extinct decades ago,” the Doctor confessed, apologising profusely as they’d headed off to their respective bedrooms. She’d been tired herself, physically, but the remains of the day kept her mind buzzing all through the night—not that she found herself reliant on sleep anyway. 

Her fingers tap along the spine of the book she’s reading. She’s distracted—painfully so—fidgeting and restless. Ghostly sensations of the memory of Yaz trail across her skin. It takes movement to quell them and her jostling knee isn’t enough—she’s up and pacing before she knows it, arms swinging by her side as she wanders around the console room. If she could just get some _relief_ maybe this whole thing would blow over and she could get some work done. 

Her hand slips past the waistband of her trousers, gasping when fingers are greeted with warm silk. It’s odd really, she notes, how desperate she finds this new body; how compelled she is to seek out the blistering zeal of the physical. Her last few incarnations had been rather more relaxed about it. But now she teeters on the edge of bliss, hand under cotton, eagerly chasing the rush she now knows she’s capable of.

“Mornin’, Doc!”

The agony at the loss of contact feels personal when she’s forced to whip her hand back and quickly fasten her culottes. Graham, Ryan and Yaz enter the console room all at once, parasites attacking the host. _Alright, maybe that’s a bit much._

“Hi!” She wrestles with flattening her shirt, despair and anger dissipating as she sees her oblivious fam lumber through for their breakfast. Mostly oblivious. The Doctor catches Yaz's eye as she finishes the final tuck of her t-shirt and it sends a shiver of embarrassment and exhilaration through her. _Could she tell?_

“Usual tea and toast?” Yaz asks, casual as ever but with a sly grin playing around the corners of her mouth.

“Tea and toast. Amazing,” the Doctor agrees, catching up to the group on their way to the kitchen. She’s halted when Yaz reaches out to grab her hand—the hand that had just been running circles around her clit. Her hearts just about leap out her throat with panic. She can still feel the moisture on her fingers… which means Yaz can feel it too. _Okay, could definitely tell. Don’t panic._

The act garners some unwanted attention as Graham and Ryan turn to watch. “You should let me paint your nails sometime, Doctor,” Yaz beams a sickening grin as the excuse slips from her lips as cool as ice-water and the men’s confused gazes are sent back to the floor. 

“Uh… Yeah,” the Doctor manages through horror. She’s mistakenly relieved when Yaz releases her hand. Only when the younger woman raises her own middle finger to her _mouth_ does she feel her full capacity for embarrassed arousal. There’s a rush of heat between her thighs as she’s transfixed by Yaz proudly tasting her under the guise of biting her nail. Her eyes are almost black and they bare into her soul, crushing and beautiful. 

She’s still in a state of reverie when Graham hands her a cup of tea minutes later. She reaches out to grasp it before halting and switching hands, taking her mug with the left. Yaz doesn’t miss the action and the Doctor spots her grinning into her mug. _Yasmin Khan, you wretch._

“So, where to today, Doc?” Graham asks. 

“Somewhere cold?” The Doctor suggests eagerly. 

****

Thorns of ice glitter through the air as Yaz cuts through snow. A creature with magnificent translucent scales glides through the ice before her, a figure at one with their frosty environment. Her name is Rozko, Yaz's ski instructor. 

“Keep tight on this corner!” She calls back, crouching as she elegantly absorbs the impact of rough terrain. Yaz feels the rush of freedom as she glides down the snowy track with surprising skill, the planet beneath her hurtling past in glimpses. She spots the end of the road approaching rather quickly and holds her breath for the final stretch, hoping more than deciding to stop before crashing into the crowd of skiers. 

She finishes her run with astounding expertise. Grinning from ear to ear, she takes off her goggles and pulls down her snood, “that was amazing!” 

“Very well done, Yasmin,” Rozko congratulates, “I knew you would get there, eventually.” Her face is earnest and a calm smile radiates from blue lips which soothes the otherwise belittling compliment. Yaz has been attempting slope number 4 of 382 for the past two hours with little success. (Luckily Graham and Ryan are still on number 1 so she feels no threat from either of them). The Doctor, however, has excelled at skiing—surprising to almost anyone who knows her haphazard personality—which annoys Yaz to no end. 

“Yaz!” She spots the wide grin before she even recognises the Doctor under her helmet and goggles, gliding towards her with gloved hands reached out, “I can’t feel m’toes!” Her laugh billows into the sky in a cloud of water vapour. 

“C’mon,” Yaz slows her to a stop as she sails to shore, “let’s get warm while we wait for the boys.” 

They leave Rozko at the beginners' slopes and begin the gentle decline to the cafes and restaurants, gloved hands linked (as not to lose one another on the slopes). 

They click off their skis and dispose of most of their ski wear at the drop-off point, heading towards the fast-food at Ryan’s request. “So what level did y’get to?” Yaz asks casually. 

“Late 200s started getting tricky,” she answers cockily, “y’should be proud of 4,” grinning like she knows how much the comparison will get under Yaz's skin. 

Yaz lets out an exasperated sigh, “I could’a got higher if I had more time,” she insists, rivalry brimming under frustration.

“I fully believe you,” the Doctor says a little too earnestly to be taken seriously and Yaz gives her a gentle shove.

“Would you shut up?” The competitive jealously inspires a taste for malice in Yaz. Luckily—being so intimately aware of the Doctor’s current state of insatiability—she knows exactly how to torture her. 

“I swear! I’ve never even seen a human past 103 before.” It’s like the Doctor can’t help the Cheshire smile on her face as she watches Yaz's incensed expression.

Before she really thinks it through, Yaz has the Doctor pushed up against the side of a building, the only privacy gifted by a discarded rack of rentable skis. She makes no sound when Yaz's knee pins her in place, pressing against her core. Or, more accurately, attempting to. _Fucking salopettes._ Changing strategies, she unzips the Doctor’s thick winter jacket, quickly untucking the layers that reside below before she loses her upper hand. 

Finally— _finally_ —she receives that satisfying gasp from the Doctor when her ice-cold fingers make contact with the bare skin of her stomach. 

“Don’t forget—” Yaz's hand quickly finds the Doctor’s right nipple, pinching it roughly between frozen fingertips. 

_“Ah—”_

“I have expertise in other areas,” Yaz studies the merging of shock, embarrassment and arousal on the Doctor’s expression as she rolls the hardened nipple. A firm tug elicits a further cry before she removes her hand completely. 

Stepping back, the Doctor is the perfect picture of dishevelment, slouched against the wall of the restaurant with her shirts rucked up between suspenders—black this time, instead of yellow. Yaz commits the image to memory. _Fuck, she’s beautiful._

“C’mon then,” her ability to put on such a chipper voice surprises even herself, “don’t wanna keep the boys waiting.”

The dash of confusion that runs through the Doctors eyes—confusion at being left here, ready, willing—sends a thrill of power through Yaz. She can feel herself throbbing beneath the layers of ski wear at the Doctor’s weakened state. _I did that._ She undoubtedly has no intention of letting up now. 

****

The group exchange looks as a waiter places American-style baskets of particularly unappetising burgers and fries, an odd greenish colour, in front of them.

“It’s probably fine,” the Doctor insists, “not like they’re pear flavour.”

“Well, I tell you what,” Graham takes a bite, “I’ve burnt so many calories on that blasted slope, I could eat a horse.” He looks more perplexed than disgusted by the taste. 

“I bet you’re gagging for it, Doctor,” Yaz chimes in, the double meaning not being missed by the Doctor who quickly swallows her fry, “getting so high, late 200s you said?” She’s grinning at the Doctor’s astonishment. 

“Hm,” she agrees, taking another bite. _No point denying things now._ “Yeah, I am rather.” They exchange a look filled with darkening thrill and expectation at the Doctor’s admission. 

“Now, you two aren’t gonna believe our instructor, Boris—“ 

“Boreas,” Ryan corrects. 

“Boreas, right. Well…” Graham delves into the recounting of his day on the slopes but the Doctor is far too distracted by the butterflies dancing in her stomach. It flutters between her thighs, too. Her contributions are becoming more and more fragmented the more she remembers Yaz's cold hands under her shirt and opts instead for eating and nodding. 

It’s as if Yaz were emitting some kind of cosmic energy the way heat radiates from her person. All psychological, the Doctor is sure, but she’s tempted to pull out her sonic and check. The pulsing between her thighs is near unbearable so she crosses her thighs firmly, attempting to be awarded some friction. 

Yaz spots the action—of course, she does—and slides her body around the booth to get closer. She spots an opportunity to lean in when the boys start disputing the facts of their story. “If y’that desperate,” she whispers, close enough to the Doctor’s ear that it sends shivers down her neck, “maybe y’should take care of yourself.” She nods slyly towards the toilets, “I know y’didn’t get to this morning.” She leans away satisfied, seamlessly reentering the conversation with Ryan and Graham. 

The Doctor can feel the blush radiating up her face. She needs to leave, quickly, so stands without a word and walks off toward the toilets, adhering to Yaz's gentle command. She can hear Yaz's brief excuse to the boys on her behalf— _“ladies room”_ —brimming with cockiness. 

The stalls are empty but the doctor still hesitates. Is this what she wants? Of course it is. _Relief_. But somethings missing—sly hands, cocky smile—she doesn’t have time to think about it now. Her right-hand slides towards her cunt before her left can even pull her trousers down. _This won’t take long._

It doesn’t. Within minutes she careening over the edge, cries smothered with her palm. The orgasm is small and moreish but leaves her legs jerking nonetheless. She looks down at her discomposure: knees wide, trousers round her ankles, sat on a public toilet. _Oh, Yaz would love this..._

_Weird thought. Letting that go._

She zips her trousers with shaky hands. Is struck with a slight sense of panic that this didn’t help at all. In fact, may have made the situation much, much worse. Some sick voice in the back of her mind tells her not to wash her hands on the way out. 

****

Yaz spots a rather flustered looking Doctor exit the toilets and make her way back to their booth. She tries desperately to contain the amusement that threatens to spill out with the knowledge of what the Doctor had been doing in there by herself. _Why is that so hot?_

“Hi,” she greets her chirpily, a little snarky around the edges, “you were quick.” 

“Erm... No queue. For once,” the Doctor struggles, “I hate being a woman. Always queues for the toilets.” The nervous rambling fills Yaz with joy—power?—and she slides over to give the Doctor room. 

She isn’t anticipating a flip in dynamic when the Doctor suddenly takes Yaz's hand in hers. It’s above the table—visible to Ryan and Graham—and she almost lets out a gasp when she feels slightly clammy fingertips run over the back of her hand and into her palm. 

She overloaded with information as she tries to register what the Doctor is doing. _What the fuck?_ It’s the exact play she’d made not this morning used against her, the remains of the Doctor’s excitement being pushed into her palm. The sign of affection—holding her hand in public? Suddenly Yaz is the one with a blush cursing her cheeks. She pulls their enveloped hands below the table and _fuck_ — 

She makes eye contact with Ryan as their hands disappear. That fear, that panic, the one she’d felt all through secondary school whenever girls looked at her with repulsion or boys with fetishisation leaps up her throat. _It’s fine. It’s Ryan. He’s not gonna say anythin’._

The Doctor runs little circles into her palm with her fingertip. A gift? Evidence of her good behaviour? Yaz's cunt pulses at the thought. She tries to imagine her in there by herself, gasping through ragged breaths. _I wonder if she said my name when she came._

She grabs her drink to distract herself—slurps the final slugs of coke from her straw in a rattling draw. “Well, I’m done,” she announces, cutting off another of Graham’s long-winded stories. 

“Back to the TARDIS?” The Doctor queries, knowing the answer already. 

****

It’s not long after entering the TARDIS the boys are heading off to bed (helped of course by a quick prescription of a muscle relaxant for sore legs). As soon as their voices disappear from the TARDIS hallway that dark carnal desire between the Doctor and Yaz—which is becoming increasingly familiar—returns. 

They lock eyes immediately across the TARDIS console. Yaz makes a slow wander around the controls, fingers gracing the edges of cool metal just to stop herself breaking into a skip. The Doctor fiddles with the switches without looking up, acting as if immersed in her work. 

“How was it?… In the toilets?” Yaz asks. Very respectable. Just a friend checking up on a friend. She slides in close to the Doctor. 

“Good. Fine,” the Doctor insists, still not looking up from the console. Yaz doesn’t move, she can tell the mere proximity of her body next to the Doctor’s is making her squirm. Eventually she turns to look, eyeing where their hips almost touch. “I don’t know if I'm doing it right,” she breathes, all quiet and apprehensive.

Yaz takes a second to process, a million thoughts running through her mind. She licks her lips slightly as she leans in impossibly closer. “Why don’t you show me?"

She’s intoxicated at her own words like the floor might slip out from under her feet and send her spiralling down through space. The weight of what she’s asking hangs heavy in the air around them: the absurdity, the perversion, the fucking sickness… the glory, the magnificence, too.

“Show me what you do?” She can _hear_ the Doctor’s hearts beating; two hearts at double speed; frantic; wild. The silence is the loudest thing she’s ever heard and for a painful, panic-stricken moment, she fears the Doctor will say no. That she will have suggested something so outrageous, so inappropriate, she'll never be able to look the Doctor in the eye again. Her heart’s in her throat as she waits and waits, resisting the overwhelming urge to back away and call it off before she can be rejected. It’s in her bones, the red warning lights flashing through her body telling her to stop, to get out before it’s too late. But an equal force—the power she can taste on her tongue—tells her to stand her ground.

“That might help,” the Doctor’s voice is barely a whisper, eyes wide and animalistic. If she felt intoxicated before, she is positively drunk on the Doctor’s consent. Giddy on the reality of what’s to come. 

“Yeah?” Yaz asks, practically breathless.

“Yeah,” the Doctor’s eyes flicker to Yaz's lips for a fraction of a second and she realises, through all this, they’ve still never kissed before.


	3. Show Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> yaz tells the doctor to touch herself

It’s déjà vu as they walk down the TARDIS halls side by side, hands swinging but not touching. Footfalls echo across the metallic expanse as they head to the Doctor’s bedroom and a sense of awkward professionalism permeates. Yaz isn’t sure she could describe the dynamic if she tried. It straddles the line between officialdom and sexual role play—neither of them acknowledging what it is they’re really doing.

The bed is made—probably by the TARDIS. Amber light from a bedside lamp gleams across the maroon bedsheets; it makes the Doctor’s skin look perfectly smooth.

They fumble slightly as the door clicks shut, neither of them knowing how to navigate this. Yaz's usual cockiness is stunted by the magnitude of the situation. _I’m seriously askin’ her to wank for me?_ The Doctor looks to her for instruction, eyes already lit up with desire. _Shake it off, Khan_. She takes the lapels of the Doctor’s coat in her hands and slides it down her arms.”Get undressed,” she says and turns to hang it on a nearby chair. It’s gentle this time—not like outside the restaurant—it’s respectful. She knows what she’s asking, appreciates the vulnerability of it.

The Doctor slips off her boots and suspenders simultaneously. Both tops are pulled off in one go—ruffling blonde hair—and she chucks them on the floor to her left. She undoes the fastening on her culottes and shoves them off roughly along with her pants. There’s nothing glamorous about it, her desirability being the last thing on her mind. The androgyny, the carelessness, the authenticity, it drives Yaz wild.

She’s naked—skin soft enough it looks liquid—juxtaposed by Yaz's fully dressed form. Yaz's never experienced anything like it—being handed such a position of power. She feels like she’s balancing a glass vase on her fingertips, the thrill of it washes through her and cleanses all doubt.

“Sit down,” she commands delicately, stroking a lock of blonde hair behind the Doctor’s ear as she sinks to the edge of the bed. “Touch yourself.”

The Doctor’s knees instantly part for the hand that slips between her thighs. Yaz can see her chest heave as soon as she makes contact. She’s still has a hand in the Doctor’s hair as the fingers start to rub, head nestling into Yaz's touch.

She moves away as the Doctor picks up her rhythm, gasps escaping her lips. The pained expression on her face tells Yaz she isn’t happy about the loss of contact but she doesn’t falter with her movements.

“Lay back.”

The Doctor abruptly flops back against the sheets as if she’d been waiting for permission the entire time. _Maybe she had._ Yaz hooks a foot around the ankle of a chair and pulls it close. Aligns it with the Doctor as one might align a lounger with the sun, perfectly oriented to absorb vital vitamins.

With her feet on the edge of her bed, she’s entirely exposed, knees spread wide, Yaz can see inside her.

The Doctor squirms frantically against her own hand, _“_ Yaz _.."_

Her name spilling from the Doctor’s mouth sends a rush of heat to Yaz's cunt. Her chest feels like it might explode as she watches, wide-eyed, mouth agape as the Doctor bucks into her own hand.

“Yaz… _”_ she repeats. It's desperate and strangled—almost pained.

“It’s okay,” Yaz reassures her. What to say in a moment like this? When the rules are so obscured? _What are we even doing here?_ She wants nothing more than to reach out and touch the Doctor.

_“Please…”_ She isn’t sure what the Doctor is begging for; her touch? her permission?

“I’m here, Doctor,” her fingers quicken at the sound of her voice. “What does it feel like?”

“It’s… _Oh, Yaz,”_ her thighs shake and her cunt starts to flutter, _“I’m so…”_

“Come, Doctor,” she encourages, “let go.”

She sees the exact moment the Doctor comes undone. Her eyes suddenly fix on the ceiling; her body freezes in awkward jolts; a blush spreads across her chest and neck; her nipples harden like sea kissed pebbles and her cunt clenches below the three fingers that circle her clit.

Yaz has never really understood her capacity for arousal until now. Her skin burns; her cunt beats hard and fast; she’s weighed down by the pressure of it, eyelids drooping. If she were still on earth she might think she was being dragged to the pits of hell for her sins. The need to touch the Doctor is unbearable.

The Doctor is still panting from her orgasm when Yaz's hands reach for her. One placed on each knee, she spreads the Doctor’s legs as wide as they’ll go. The Doctor raises her head from the bed just quick enough to make eye contact with Yaz before she sweeps down to put her mouth on her.

The Doctor’s head is instantly flung back to its original position on the sheets as soon as Yaz's tongue make contact with her clit. _“Oh! Yaz!…_ ”

She doesn’t waste time with foreplay, delving straight into her cunt with long licks. It takes mere seconds before the Doctor is back on that razor edge. She tastes exactly like Yaz had imagined: salty, piquant. She’s so wet the moisture drips down Yaz's chin. _Fuck, I’m eating the Doctor out._

She grips her hips, stilling the writhing spasms so she can more accurately suck on her clit. Everything about it is perfectly erotic; the all-consuming scent; the heat; the friction; the taste.

The Doctor’s legs clamp down around Yaz's head when she comes again. Her orgasm tears the air from her lungs in a scream, muffled by hot thighs covering her ears.

She stays there still for a while, breath condensing on the Doctor’s inner thigh as she regains her thoughts. When she pulls away she wipes her chin on the back of her hand and takes her first look up at the Doctor’s face. Her forearm’s thrown across her face but there’s a faint smile around the corners of her mouth. It fills Yaz with a different kind of excitement—pride?—and she slides up her body to lay next to her.

“That were definitely different,” the Doctor laughs and they roll to face one another. It’s Yaz's turn to feel a blush radiating up her cheeks when she realises the shamelessness of her actions. “You’re proper good at that,” she adds as if she were observing someone play with a yoyo.

“Thank you,” Yaz takes the odd compliment with a laugh. “Not far off talented yourself, y’technique looks good to me,” she grins.

They pause for a moment and Yaz thinks she might lean in and kiss her, thinks she might push her back into the covers and take her again, thinks—

“I’m just not used to all this… want,” the Doctor’s eyebrows pull together and Yaz has lost her to her thoughts. “It’s like it’s always there, simmerin’ in the background. Set off by the smallest of things. It’s very distracting. Like y’hands, or when y’look at me too long.”

The confession sends Yaz into a tailspin. _It’s me? I’m the one doing all of this to the Doctor?_

“I don’t think you’re alone with that, Doctor,” she realises her voice seems shy in comparison to the Doctor’s unashamed honesty, “I think most people are thinkin’ about sex at least fifty percent of the time.” This seems to do the opposite of comfort and sends the Doctor’s brow furrowing again.

“You’re not,” she counters. “You’re always so… contained. Cool as a cucumber you are, Yaz.”

The praise of her composure takes Yaz by surprise. “I grew up liking girls, you’ve to learn to hide that pretty early on unless y’wanna get bullied,” Yaz gives a little laugh but the Doctor just looks sad for her. “That doesn’t mean I don’t feel everythin’ you’re feeling. That I don’t get distracted when you fiddle with the TARDIS controls, or when y’get too close in a panelled alcove.” Her eyes dart over the Doctor’s expression, suddenly dark at the prospect of Yaz wanting, pupils dilated like black ink dripped in water.

“Show me,” she whispers.

****

The remains of Yaz's touch buzz across her naked body. She supposes she should be embarrassed being the only one naked, laying next to Yaz fully dressed in black jeans and a t-shirt. The thrill is far more encompassing. The feeling of being secure while simultaneously vulnerable is comforting. It’s not something she’s accustomed to, her being in control all the time. Being responsible for so many lives all the time. She feels the security Yaz provides magnified tenfold when they’re like this. 

Her breath is snatched away as she watches Yaz's hands nimbly undo the button and zip on her jeans. Without hesitation, Yaz grasps the Doctor’s wrist and pushes her hand below the waistline of her jeans, past the elastic of her underwear. _Oh, god._

Yaz is soaking wet when her fingers slip through her folds. The Doctor can’t help but let out a deep groan at the sensation. Yaz's want, all of her desire, the product of her watching the Doctor, slick around her fingers. The heavy breath Yaz exhales moves a lock of blonde hair and tickles her face. 

The Doctor is overcome with a sense of urgency to touch Yaz, to be close to her, to be inside her. The younger woman rolls on to her back, effortlessly sliding her jeans and underwear down to her knees. She allows the Doctor to pull them off the rest of the way as she pulls her shirt off. The sheer lace bra cups her perfectly but the Doctor has no time to appreciate it, not when Yaz's cunt is exposed to her. It’s glistening under the light, a small patch of hair neatly trimmed about her clit—

“Should I be shaving?”

“No,” Yaz insists. “I mean... unless you want to. I like you as you are.” 

“Oh, okay.” _Probably a waste of time. “_ Probably won’t.” Yaz smirks but she’s far too distracted with the feel of her to focus, circling her clit with Yaz on her back.“Y’really wet,” she observes of the slickness coating her fingers.

The clinical aspect that has seemingly defined all their interactions up until now dissipates when the Doctor slips a finger inside Yaz's cunt, extracting a strangled moan. They’re no longer experimenting, no longer running a trial on her new body and keeping up the appearances of Doctor and Scientist. No, the Doctor is fucking Yaz, naked on maroon sheets, dripped in amber light. 

“More,” she sighs.

It’s been a while since the Doctor fucked a woman but it comes back to her with ease. _Like ridin’ a bike._ She tests Yaz for her sweet spots—gives special attention to the bits that make her groan. She draws out to add a second finger and feels Yaz twitch around her. 

_“Fuck, Doctor…”_ It’s music to the Doctor’s ears that encouragement. All she wants, all she’s consumed by is the need to please Yaz. To send her tumbling off a cliff into a pool of pleasure. 

Toned abdominals tense dramatically under smooth brown skin. _That beautiful skin._ Soft as silk. She can’t help but lean forward and place a kiss on Yaz's left breast, free hand pulling back the lace so she can draw a dusky nipple into her mouth. It elicits melodic sighs from Yaz's lips so she runs circles around it with her tongue as her hand fucks into her furiously. 

Goosebumps flood across Yaz's chest and arms as she starts to come, they dance like glitter under the soft lighting. She’s silent as she shudders, mouth agape and brows furrowed so hard the Doctor fears she might give herself a headache. She jolts once, twice, three times—legs spread wide, fists grabbing at sheets—before falling completely slack beneath the Doctor.

“Y’really are 2000 years old aren’t you?” Yaz laughs through her elbow.

The Doctor takes the compliment smugly, proud of herself for pleasing Yaz, as she slips her fingers out. “Took a bit of practice,” she admits with a smile, flopping herself back down to her original position on the bed next to Yaz. 

They lay there for a moment, both naked—bar Yaz's bra—on their backs, looking up at the ceiling. It reminds the Doctor of being with River somehow. Not the pain that always laced their interactions but the comfortability, the honesty—the sex too, probably. _I just had sex with Yaz._ Foolish to be surprised after the fact. 

Multiple conversation starters run through her head, jaw opening a couple of times to try one out but deciding against it at the last second. 

_‘That was nice.’ ‘That was amazing.’ ‘Can we do that again?’ ‘Can I kiss you?’_

None of them feel right. So they lay there, eyes on the ceiling, basking in the vibrant buzz that pirouettes between them. _What do we do now?_ The question springs to mind like a thorn in her side. As much as this new body, this new self, enjoys sex, it sure as hell doesn’t enjoy delicate social interaction. All she wants to do is live in this moment for a while. Keep it safe and untainted by endings like everything else in her life. _Don’t open that door, Doctor._

She’s just starting to panic when the rumbling of the kitchen kettle offers a polite out. 

“Sounds like Graham’s up,” Yaz observes. It’s gentle. An offering really, for them to both escape this perfect situation without ruining it. 

“Maybe we should check on him?” The Doctor offers, stealing one last glance at Yaz—relaxed, bare, beautiful—before she rolls away to get up.

****

They chat with a worn-out Graham at the kitchen table. The conversation lasts no more than twenty minutes but Yaz feels some out-of-body voice letting her know this night, this interaction, will be scorched into her mind forever. Not for its grandiosity—although the orgasm the Doctor just gave her could be labelled as such—rather, the quiet way the Doctor looks at her now. Laughing with Graham but not fully engrossed in his talk. The Doctor’s attention is on her, eyes peering over the rim of her mug, not dark or devilish but calm… joyous. She’s happy. _I made the Doctor happy._

Yaz is exhausted when Graham announces for the second time he is going to bed, giving a quick nod before heading out. Her shoulders ache and her eyelids droop with sleep. 

“Y’should sleep too, Yaz,” the Doctor suggests across the table. The thought is loathsome. To waste such precious time asleep while the Doctor is here, waiting? It feels criminal. Her mind rushes for some kind of solution—maybe if she just stayed up a little later, if they could go back to when she was alert and refreshed and—

How ridiculous. Not even becoming a time traveller could rid her of time’s curses, her own biology is inescapable. “Yeah,” she solemnly agrees. “But tell her to wake me early,” she adds, hopeful the TARDIS won’t allow for hypersomnia, not while the universe passes her by.

The Doctor nods with a smile. “You’ll be up with the lark.”

Yaz raises from and table and leaves. And for some odd reason, her heart breaks a little bit. 


	4. Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> yaz gets hurt on an adventure and it pushes their relationship to the next level

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (tw: blood, slight injury/whump)

Everyone’s in the kitchen when Yaz wakes the next day (if they can be called days, these fragments of time spent awake and asleep). She feels well-rested. Which annoys her. 

“Mornin’,” she announces her presence groggily, rubbing the sleep from her eyes as she makes her way to a chair. 

“Yaz! Tea or coffee?” The Doctor’s smile is wide and brilliant and infectious.

“Coffee, please. How long was I asleep?”

“You must’ve been asleep hours, man,” Ryan seems surprised by her sleepy state.

“No, I was up later than you with the Doctor,” Yaz insists. She hadn’t missed that much time, had she? She can’t have, the Doctor had promised she’d be up with the lark and—

“Doing what?”

Yaz's heart jumps at the question and her mouth is devoid of words. 

“You had a solid 8 hours, no more, no less,” the Doctor ignores Ryan’s question completely and slides Yaz's coffee across the table with a reassuring smile. Their fingers touch for a fraction of a second and Yaz tries her best to ignore the fact she noticed with verve.

“They were in the kitchen with me,” Graham answers for them both. A curious cover-up, did Graham know something? She thinks back to their entrance, was their hair messy? Their clothes ruffled? Were they acting differently? She doesn’t know exactly what’s going on with her and the Doctor but she’s positive she’s not ready to talk about it with Graham or Ryan.

“You three are hangin' out without me now?” Ryan holds his hands out in a confused shrug. _Not a threesome I’d like to imagine._ The Doctor, seemingly having the same thought, makes eye contact across the room and they exchange a smirk. 

“No one's getting left out. I promise you that. Anyway, any requests?” The Doctor asks, popping a biscuit in her mouth. 

“Can we go to New York?” Ryan looks hopeful. 

“Why d'you always wanna go to Earth, Ryan? We’ve got the whole universe to explore!” Yaz looks at him with perplexed dissatisfaction. He offers nothing but a shrug that says _what?_

“Plenty of time to do both,” the Doctor smiles, ever the mediator. _I love that about her._ The thought pops into her head before she even realises it.

Yaz just wishes she was right. But some panic simmers below the surface, a dwelling anxiety hinting at some mammoth issue Yaz can’t fully make out yet. It feels like watching sand speed up faster, faster, faster as the final grains disappear through the narrowing of glass — and Yaz is helpless to stop it. She can’t place what’s brought the feeling on but all she is desirous of is to get moving.

****

The Doctor’s coattails fly in the wind like sails ahead of Yaz. She hears nothing but the sound of her pulse in her ears and her feet slamming into hard concrete. They're running. Fast. Blue lasers whirl past her at dangerous speeds, demolishing rubbish bins and discarded cardboard boxes. She’s in her element, running from danger. _This is what I was made for._ It’s what she’d longed for at her job but never received, the thrill of life magnified when so close to death.

_“Left!”_ She hears the Doctor yell ahead to Graham and Ryan. The pair leap sideways into an alleyway, shielding themselves from the Sontarans chasing after them. The Doctor’s hand reaches back to grab her and Yaz's fingers slip into her palm effortlessly. She looks up to see blonde hair framing an adrenaline-fuelled face, the wind lifting it like a halo. They catch eye contact for a moment. Yaz sees the widening of hazel eyes and the shape of a scream on her lips well before she feels the searing pain of a Sontaran laser mercilessly slicing through her flesh.

“ _Yaz! Yaz!”_

The noise pierces her ears and she looks down to her fingers: wet with sticky red. Her body’s being dragged across asphalt, her blood’s pooling on the streets of New York. _Fuck, I’ve been shot. I’ve actually been shot._

“Look at me, Yaz! Stay with me!”

Her voice sounds so pained, so full of fear and dread, she’s strangled by it. Even through the cold haze of blood loss, Yaz wants to reach out and tell her it’s ok. _Everything’s ok._ The Doctor’s hand is on her forehead and the notes that it feels nice.

“Doctor,” she’s vaguely aware of Ryan and Graham stood over her but their heads are squiggled out by the tears that fill her eyes. “I’m okay,” she insists with a weak smile. _Maybe I’m in shock. Is this what shock feels like?_

“I’m here. Stay with me, Yaz.”

_Stay with me. Please, stay with me._

****

White metal crests the ceiling in honeycomb patterns. _Where am I?_ The room spins and a wave of nausea washes over her, prickling her scalp.

The sounds of a bouncing foot beside her bed and the bleeping of machinery reverberate around this echoey chamber. It smells like blood and antiseptic. To her side, the Doctor worries her lip, eyes locked on a computer screen.

She’s lay flat on a black rubber mattress that creaks when she moves — wires sprung from her body like vines. Her clothes are gone, apart from her underwear and large white bandage wraps itself around her waist, a snake holding her together. Blood seeps through in a crimson lick at her left side.

“Yaz!” The Doctors at her side in an instant. “Don’t be scared. Y’safe now, on the TARDIS.” Her words seem more for herself as fear oozes from her expression. Yaz feels compelled to reach out and cup her face but the cannula in the back of her hand won't allow it. 

“What happened?” She croaks. 

“Sontaran ray. Got you pretty bad on y’side. It’s superficial, nothin’ internal—had me worried for a sec though,” she’s nervous like she’s scared Yaz might be angry with her. “I’m so sorry Yaz, I—No, Yaz, stay down.” 

“Doctor, please don’t apologise,” the drugs she must be on spare her the pain she knows she should be feeling as she sits up, ignoring the Doctor’s pleas.

“Please, Yaz. I—“ 

“Take this out for me?” Yaz holds up the cannulas — she hesitates but complies. Yaz doesn’t wince as the sticky bandage pulls the hair from her skin and the needle slips out her vein. Blood dibbles from the hole it leaves behind. 

“I’m so sorry,” her face is full of pain, eyes ghastly. 

She thinks maybe she should be shaken by the events. Thinks her family or her future should be on her mind, that she should be hit with the reality she could have died. She could have lost them all and them her, none the wiser as to what truly happened to her. That she would’ve been an unanswered question in her families lives forever.

But time slips and the sands fall and the only thing she feels is gratitude that she’s still here — not herself but the Doctor. _She stayed._ She opens her knees and pulls the Doctor to stand closer till the tops of her thighs are flush against the bed. 

“I was so reckless with you. I should’ve protected you better. I—“ 

“Doctor,” she silences her with a hand on her cheek. _What am I doing?_ This is way more intimacy she’s accustomed to. “Not everythin’s your fault.”

“But it is, Yaz. I’m responsible for you. Out there, it’s my job to look after you.”

Yaz shakes her head. “We all make our own choices.” And then she makes hers: “Will you kiss me?” 

The Doctor’s breath hitches in her throat and her expression twitches as if she’d been witness to the birth of a star—or perhaps the death of one. Her face contorts in an unreadable expression — somewhere between pain and regret. It doesn’t stop her nodding her head. “Yeah,” she whispers.

Their lips meld together as if they were built from atoms of the same nebula. _Bit much that, Yaz._ But it's so gently earth-shattering, how could it not feel spiritual? Yaz feels something click inside that tells her this is what kissing is _meant_ to feel like. This is what everything has been leading up to. Kissing the Doctor. _I’m kissing the Doctor._

A bloody hand rest around the Doctor’s neck and pulls her impossibly closer. She lets her lips part and feels the Doctor’s tongue against hers— _the Doctor’s tongue’s in my mouth, that’s fine_ —she tastes like skin and teeth and peach iced tea.

The Doctor groans into her mouth, all her pain and fear and love and relief spilling out — Yaz wants to drink it all in and unburden her from the weight of it.

They pull away slightly—foreheads still pressed together, breath still heavy—and Yaz's hands find the zipper on the Doctor’s trousers.

“Wait, you don’t have to—”

“I want to,” Yaz's eyes ask for permission and the Doctor replies by reinitiating the kiss, more wanting this time, more eager. 

She dips a hand into the Doctor’s trousers and beneath her cotton underwear, immediately cupping her. She pauses—their lips stopping but not leaving each other—evaluating the best way to go about the task without straining herself. _I’m gonna get blood on her underwear._ She feels the Doctor nod against her face and leave gentle kisses across her lips, each one a plea to be touched. It clears any hesitation in an instant.

Yaz runs her fingers painfully slowly through the Doctor, feels how wet she is. She can feel the vibrations of the Doctor’s moan fill her mouth as she starts a slow but firm rhythm around her clit.

“I wanna be inside you,” she declares, words echoing around the Doctor’s open mouth. She needs more contact, more closeness, more evidence that the Doctor is real and here. How can someone so magnificent be real? _The woman who fell to Earth. She shouldn’t be._

“Please…”

It’s all the permission Yaz needs to slip her fingers inside the Doctor for the first time. She's tight and the Doctor to gives out a whimper. “Is this okay?”

“Yes,” she sighs. “More than okay.”

Yaz can feel the deep wound at her left side aching with the gyrations so steadies her core with a hand on the Doctor’s hip. They’re barely kissing now—the Doctor far too distracted by Yaz steadily fucking into her—but their mouths never lose contact and she swallows every gasp and whine.

Whenever she flutters around her fingers Yaz's brought back to the present and served evidence of her existence. _She’s real, she’s here._ She can tell she’s almost there from the noises that spill from her mouth, prayer-like and desperate, begging for more contact. Before Yaz can offer it the Doctor pushes her hips forward—trapping Yaz's hand between her cunt and the side of the bed—and begins to grind her clit against Yaz's palm, riding her fingers—

_“Oh!…Y—”_

_Yes or Yaz?_

—It’s frantic and primal and her head drops forward on to Yaz’s shoulder. She almost feels as though she’s cradling her in this position. _Cradle, cushion, shelter, protect._ It’s the most untethered she’s ever seen her — giving in to her most basic needs. It’s explicitly vulnerable. Her arms fly out either side of Yaz, suddenly bracing herself on the creaky mattress before her legs can give way. She shudders when she comes, a shaky breath tickling Yaz’s shoulder. When the gyrations of her hips still and she lifts her head, Yaz picks up kissing her where she left off. She feels compelled to soothe the pain that spills from the Doctor.

“I’m fine,” she whispers as she removes her hand, wiping it on her bare thigh, “I’m here.”

“I’m sorry,” the Doctor can’t help but say it again and Yaz can’t help but kiss it from her lips. Shame seems to radiate off her as Yaz zips her trousers back up for her, her eyes locked on nimble fingers doing-up the clasp.

“Pretty good first kiss, that,” she gently goads, trying to lighten the mood.

“Yeah, I’d say,” the Doctor replies, finally looking up with a still-flustered smile. They’re in it now. This thing that's been growing. It's real and tangible and Yaz can feel it trying burst out of her chest. 

“Take me back to m’ room?” She asks and the Doctor nods, happy with being given something practical to do. “…Ryan and Graham didn’t see me in me underwear did they?”

“Pfft. They should be so lucky,” the Doctor quips with a raise of her eyebrows as she helps Yaz down off the bed, taking most of her weight. 


	5. Recovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> yaz experiments with the doctor's limits while she's under her care, recovering from her injury

Yaz isn’t accustomed to being incapacitated. She’s been independent since she was young. Looking after her sister, going out into the world and entering the police force. She’s self-governing, to say the least. This makes her current predicament particularly exhausting. The wound on her side is stapled together with 12 metal brackets. Unattractive to look at—she had glimpsed a peekas the Doctor changed the bandages—but all that was in reach at the time. She’s taking less and less pain medication now. The staples itch and pinch and the sliced muscles twinge when she moves but she’s assured the injuries are superficial. The injury itself isn't the worst part; it's the laying around, the sleeping at odd hours for lack of entertainment, the waiting. The sheer boredom of the healing process - and it’s only been 24 hours since the Doctor walked her back to her room, arm flung around her neck for balance. 

Not being much entertainment in their current position, the Doctor has dropped Ryan and Graham back in 2019 while Yaz recuperates. It’s odd being here on the TARDIS, alone with the Doctor. Not travelling as usual but simply existing here in the time vortex while her body heals. 

She's just woken up again. The room's quiet but the door is wide open and she can hear the noises of the Doctor clattering about under the console. She longs her to come in, to drop her tools and come. And she does. The clattering stops and she sends waves of gratitude to the TARDIS, knowing her to be somehow responsible. _Thank you. Thank you. Thank you._

_“_ You're up,” the Doctor observes from the doorway. The light from the hallway illuminates her silhouette as if she were being raptured.

“I’m up,” Yaz smiles and attempts to sit. She’s wearing a man’s shirt—light blue and much too big for her—which she thought might belong to Graham but it smells like the Doctor. “Flick the light on?” 

“Tea?” 

Yaz nods. 

“Custard cream?” 

Yaz shakes her head. “Help me up,” she grumbles as she struggles and the Doctor leaps to action, striding over to the bed to help Yaz sit. Her hands dig under her armpits and drag her heavy body up the mattress. 

“Anything else?” It’s bizarre having the Doctor wait on her. Timelord, alien, centuries-old species of traveller, considered a God among mortals by some… making Yaz tea. 

“A shower would be nice.” She still smells of an odd mix of bin juice and antiseptic. 

“Tea and towels. Easy,” the Doctor mutters under her breath. _Easy_. 

****

The hot water seeps between Yaz's hair, warming her head. It's delicious and the first real comfort she’s felt in ages. She sinks into the feeling as the Doctor aims the shower-head, controlling the spray away from her wound. Sleep tempts her periphery as the Doctor massages shampoo into her scalp, her fingers hitting every spot. 

“Left,” the Doctor requests an arm to be scrubbed, white suds covering her smooth skin. “Right.”

Yaz can tell she’s trying to avoid looking at her naked body—her eyes dart about, pretending to find the white tiles oddly fascinating—but doesn’t miss the brief glances at her chest and the blushes that follow.

When the Doctor sinks to crouch at her feet, sleeves rolled up, running a soapy sponge up and down her legs—Yaz feels her heart race in her chest. _Well, that’s an image ’n a half._ She blushes while her face is level with Yaz's cunt. In any other scenario, Yaz knows she’d already have the Doctor up against the tiles drenching her clothes and not caring at all. 

“I’ll let you… do the rest,” the Doctor hands Yaz the sponge and turns to get her towel ready. Yaz can’t help feel a little disappointed, even if it wasn’t going to be the most sensual of touches. The thought of pushing the Doctor makes her dizzy. She cleans and rinses herself pragmatically, turning off the water to see the Doctor dangling a huge towel. 

“Y’sure that’s big enough?”

“Go big or go home,” she retorts, patting her down before twisting her hair up in a towel. “Sorry, never had that much hair before,” she scrunches up her face at the precariously balanced towel. “Sit on the bed. I’ll get a fresh bandage.”

Yaz does as she’s told. She likes this. The nervousness of the Doctor as she potters about, clearly in control but anxious not to overstep. It’s as if she’s been given a position of power she doesn’t quite want and isn’t sure how to navigate. It’s endearing in a way, the woman capable of deciding the fate of the universe in an afternoon can’t determine how many seconds one might look at a woman’s bare legs before it’s considered inappropriate.

She intentionally drops the towel before sitting on the bed. Naked apart from the one wrapped around her hair, her rich brown skin contrasting with crisp white bedsheets. 

_“_ Oh _—”_ Doctor hesitates as she returns with the bandages in her hands, damn near dropping them at the sight of Yaz waiting patiently. _Gotcha_. She takes a deep breath but still averts her eyes as best she can before she approaches. The shyness is almost laughable. 

Yaz leans back on her hands to give the Doctor access to the wound, exposing herself further as a side-effect. The familiar thrill of power tickles her as the Doctor kneels, blushing profusely at the sight. _How far can I push her before she can’t resist?_ The vulnerability of her current predicament puts the ball entirely in the Doctor’s court. She holds the power, or at least she thinks she does, and Yaz is desperate to see what she’ll do with it.

She works silently, gentle fingers applying the sticky bandage to Yaz’s skin, smoothing out the edges, eyes glancing up to her tits every now and then. 

“You look flushed,” she observes with a smirk. 

“I’m— I'm fine.” The Doctor’s eyes are back as coal when she looks up under her lashes. It sends shivers down Yaz's spine.

“Did it feel good? When I was inside you?” Yaz knows it's cruel, teasing her like this, but she can’t stop herself. 

The Doctor’s jaw goes slack at the question and she takes a hardly perceptible breath. “Yaz _…_ ” It’s half a warning, half a plea.

She knows the Doctor already feels some type of guilt for accepting Yaz's eager fingers while she was newly injured. The attempts to resist her now are deliciously satisfying.

She sighs and clears her throat, “…I’ll get you a clean shirt.”

****

“Y’didn’t answer my question,” Yaz tries again when she’s back to her original position, sat in the middle of the double bed.

“It felt good,” she finally replies. There’s a heaviness to her voice but she doesn’t dare look up from her task of folding towels at the foot of the bed. 

Yaz can’t help but smirk. “C’mere,” she commands, confident in finally getting a reaction out of her.

“I won’t let you hurt y’self. You need to heal,” her eyebrows are furrowed enough when she looks up that Yaz knows she’s serious. 

She thinks for a second, mulling over her plan. “Okay,” she concedes with a thoughtful nod. "Take off your clothes.” 

The Doctor looks so be a mix of exasperated, embarrassed and amused at Yaz's unrelenting persistence—jaw flapping for a moment in protest. They lock eyes for a minute, both trying the gauge each others response, calculating their next moves. It’s not long before the Doctor gives in with a sigh and—if Yaz isn’t mistaken—an eye roll.

She chucks the pile of folded towels to the side and starts to strip off. Two t-shirts coming off in one go over her head, ruffling blonde hair and exposing silky pale skin. She doesn’t break eye contact as she slips off her trousers, pulling them off one leg at a time and throwing them across a chair theatrically. She pauses expectantly, waiting for her next instruction.

“All of it,” Yaz nods to the white cotton pants and bra.

The Doctor’s eyes go a little darker, cheeks go a little redder, and she bites her lip to hide a smile. She slides her hands back behind her to unclasp the bra, letting it slip down her arms to reveal delicate pink nipples. _Fuck_. Yaz wants nothing more than to put her mouth on her. Her pants are next, sliding down firm thighs without any femininity. She’s still a good few feet away, stood at the foot of the bed, but Yaz is already transfixed by the sight of little blonde curls covering soft pink flesh slick with heat. 

Yaz pulls the covers back, bare legs braving the fresh air. “C’mere,” she says again, encouraging the Doctor to crawl her naked body up the bed. 

The Doctor straddles Yaz's thighs, her wet cunt centimetres away from her lap. The first thing Yaz does it take a sensitive nipple into her mouth, plucking it with her teeth. The Doctor immediately lets out a whine at the contact, throwing her head back. Yaz runs her hands across the smooth skin of the Doctor’s back. She thinks she could live here forever with the Doctor in her arms—nipping at her tits with white teeth and soothing the stings with her tongue. When the Doctor’s hips start to squirm below her she pulls back. “You can touch yourself.” 

Her left-hand sinks to Yaz's hair, scratching grateful circles in her scalp. The right snakes its way between her thighs, two fingers disappearing to run searing tracks through her heat. Yaz replaces the stimulation from her mouth with her hands, opting to lean back against the headboard to watch. The view is breathtaking: the Doctor completely naked, fucking herself in Yaz's lap, eyes as black as deep space boring into her.

The heat that coils inside Yaz is inconceivable, she’s entirely intoxicated by it and feels herself soaking through the fresh underwear she’d just stepped into.

“Tell me when you get close,” she says, rolling a nipple between her finger and thumb. 

She gets no verbal response but a breathless nod of her head.

“Tell me you will.”

“I… I’ll tell y’when I’m close, _”_ she breathes.

“Good,” Yaz sinks forward again to lick across her tits, holding them in her palms and brushing her thumbs over the glistening flesh.

Her gasps become shallower, her movements quicker—Yaz looks up to into her face to make sure she hasn’t forgotten her promise.

_“I’m…”_ Just as she’s about to reach that blissful edge, tragedy hits. 

Yaz grabs the Doctor’s wrist and yanks the hand away leaving her hips bucking into thin air.

_“Wh—?!”_ The Doctor lets out a pained cry as she feels her orgasm dissipate, eyes wide with devastation.

“Come on my hand,” he slips her hand around between their bodies, easily slipping two fingers into the Doctor’s already fluttering cunt. 

“ _Ohh…”_

It’s not a perfect angle but the Doctor is so wet and already so close it doesn’t matter. She starts a gentle rhythm but mostly lets the Doctor ride her fingers, still abiding her recovery rules. “Feel me, Doctor,” she instructs, “feel me inside you.” Looking up at the Doctor’s face, her eyes are screwed shut in all-consuming pleasure. 

A hand claws on to Yaz's shoulder with a merciless grip and suddenly the whole of the Doctor’s body is shuddering. Her nipples are hard and goosebumps cover her chest and Yaz feels a rush of warm liquid dripping down her wrist— _fuck_ —as the Doctor clenches down over and over and over. Her orgasm seems to last a lifetime and Yaz thinks she’s forgotten her own name. 

When her cunt finally stills Yaz pulls out her sopping fingers and looks down at the mess. She’s never seen anything more intoxicating. 

“I— I’ve never done that before,” the Doctor breathlessly follows Yaz's gaze to the puddle she’s now sat in, looking mildly alarmed and a little embarrassed. 

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Yaz can’t help being elated—eyes wide, she grins through her daze. 

“Is that—?” 

“Yes. Very, very sexy.” She boldly pushes two fingers into her mouth to taste the Doctor, knowing full well how much the action flusters her. After pulling them out with a wet pop she reaches up to push her index and middle finger into the Doctor’s mouth. It’s almost pornographic to watch the Doctor take her fingers in her mouth, tasting her own come. It makes her look dishevelled and submissive; well behaved, somehow. So at odds with her nature. _Yasmin Khan, the woman who tamed the Doctor._ Her tongue wiggles under her fingers and then slips between them, rolling against the skin. _What would it feel like if she ate me out like that?_

As soon as Yaz's fingers are gone from her mouth, she looks earnestly into her eyes.“Would you let me taste you?”

“Yes.” It's comical how quickly she answers—voice heavy, breathless—sparking a giddy smile to radiate across the Doctor’s face. “I’d literally like nothin’ more.”

“I’m so relieved,” she smiles, presses a chaste kiss on her lips and whispers, “I bet y’taste amazin’.”

_She’s gonna kill me._

She lifts up Yaz’s t-shirt to plant wet kisses across the bandage-free side of her stomach. Careful not to jostle her, she pulls the damp cotton off painfully slowly. It’s noticeable—the care she takes when manoeuvring her, gently pulling her hips down the bed—when Yaz contrasts it with her usual chaotic demeanour. It makes Yaz feel taken care of. The image of the Doctor on her hands, face framed by Yaz's knees, is angelic. She runs her fingers down her thighs to her knees and pushes her legs apart—Yaz can’t help but gasp as she feels herself being spread open.

Nothing beats the completely consumed looked in the Doctor’s eye upon seeing her so exposed. She nestles down onto her elbows and spreads Yaz’s labia even further with her thumbs before licking a long line right through her. _Oh, god. Oh, god. Oh—_

It’s almost painful how good it feels. The Doctor knows not to tease—she’d be too easily guilted with Yaz in her current condition—so emphatically places her whole mouth on her. “ _Fuck, Doctor_.”

The Doctor feeds off her words and licks inside her as far as her tongue will reach, sucks mercilessly on her clit, occasionally taking breaks to rub her thumb over it in sweet little circles.

Yaz notices her eager response to the words and tries again, paying her a compliment. “…You’re so good, Doctor,” she sighs, stroking the Doctor’s blonde hair.

The Doctor groans into her cunt at the praise and it sends vibrations right across her and Yaz makes mental note for future reference. A spare hand snakes up Yaz's body under her shirt, careful to avoid her injury, and pinches her nipple, eliciting delightful gasps. 

She comes with a final curse, a shiver glittering down her spine and her cunt beating against the Doctor’s tongue. The spasms in her abdomen are uncomfortable and the staples itch around the moving skin but she couldn’t care less.

“Kiss me,” she sighs through her afterglow, enjoying the image of a very naked Doctor hovering above her on her hands and knees. She can taste herself on the Doctor’s lips, it’s addictive and intoxicating. _I’ll never get sick if this._ They kiss lazily for a while—the Doctor laying her body next to Yaz's, their tongues gliding over one another’s—perfectly content to simply feel each other.

“Quite French that, isn’t it?” The Doctor observes when she pulls away, leaning over Yaz, head propped up by her elbow, grinning from ear to ear. 

“Yeah, quite French,” Yaz agrees with a chuckle. “Get me off these wet sheets?” 

“Oh, yeah. Sorry,” her accent lilts on the apology as scrunches her nose. 

“Please, never apologies for that, Doctor,” she smirks, mockingly stern.

********

“This is what y’wore as a man?” Yaz asks as they wander through the TARDIS corridors, the quiet hum of the beautiful machine a slumber-inducing rhyme.

“I were going through a leather phase.”

“I’d happily see that brought back,” she quips with a raise of her brow. The way she flirts with such cool confidence never fails to impress.

When they sink into navy sheets— _which rooms this again? Ah, never mind_ —the Doctor feels a twinge of guilt, a feeling she’s become oh so accustomed to over her lifespan. If only she had been more careful, stayed behind longer to protect Yaz, she never would’ve got hurt. She doesn’t dare contemplate how close of a call that flying laser had been. How close she’d been to losing Yaz completely. _You always lose in the end, Doctor. Don’t you dare forget._

She puts too much trust in Yaz to look after herself. Her tough exterior, her job, her ability to talk the Doctor’s language so fluently—it makes her forget she’s just a girl. A girl who would follow her anywhere and trust her doing it. _I was so reckless._ The confidence, the faith, the resilience Yaz possessed casts a spell on the Doctor.

_She’s just a girl._

She can’t help recalling the cocky look on Yaz's face as she sat naked on the bed. She was a predator hunting her prey, observing the Doctor’s every move, scrutinising every twitch of her eye, every graze of her fingers. It made her feel small, somehow. Not in a negative way, the Doctor spends every waking second, all of time, with the weight of her name on her shoulders. Her reputation buries her sometimes, just as the responsibilities do.

She recalls the self-assurance in Yaz's voice when she commanded her to strip. The wicked look in her expression as she raked her brown eyes over the Doctor’s exposed skin. _Come in my hand._ The words echo around the Doctor’s skull as she lays there.

Yaz is breathing peacefully beside her, finally back to the safety of her dreams. The silhouette of her features spark more memories of their time spent together. Those eyebrows frowning so tightly when she came undone. That nose pressing up against the Doctor’s clit when she ate her out. Those lips wrapped around her pulse point. 

_She’s just a girl._

The Doctor can’t help pressing her thighs together. She holds her breath for a few seconds to listen to Yaz's, checking she’s still asleep. It flows in methodic exhalations, little strands of black hair dancing on the out-breath. Rolling over, she looks up at the ceiling and shuffles away so her movements don't wake her. She lets her hand snake back down between her thighs. Already naked from the waist down, the contact is instant. 

_Do you want me to help you? Show me what you do. Touch yourself, Doctor. Come in my hand._

The memories of Yaz's words are dazzling and have much the same effect on her now than they did when they first slipped past perfect lips. She breathes in a sharp gasp when her wet fingers slide over her still sensitive clit. There’s no desire for patience — she rubs frantically over the bud as quickly as she can without disturbing the sheets. Her left-hand snakes up below her t-shirt to pinch at her nipple— _don’t forget_ —just like Yaz had outside that restaurant— _I have expertise in other areas._

Her head’s thrown back against the pillow as she squirms against her own touch. Eyes shut tight, she focuses on the feeling. The only sound is the beating of her hearts in her ears and her quiet gasps. 

The only sound is her… no methodic exhalations. The Doctor opens her eyes to see dark pupils blown wide that sends a shock through her body— 

_“_ Oh _—“_ She yanks her hand away from herself, jumping back from her spectator. “I—…” _Shit_. Her mind and body overrun are with stimulation as she searches for an explanation. _You creep._ “I, um—“ She can’t quite gauge Yaz's reaction in the dark and embarrassment prickles across her cheeks. 

Her breath catches in her throat when she feels Yaz's hand skim across her thigh. She silently runs the tip of a single finger through the Doctor’s wet cunt. She moans at the brief contact but all too soon the feeling is gone and Yaz is bringing her finger to her mouth to lick clean. 

“Don’t stop,” her voice is deep and rusty, filled sleep and desire. The Doctor hesitates for a moment but Yaz makes no further move to touch her again, instead tucking her hand back to its original position under her pillow. 

Being watched by Yaz is something she’s gradually becoming accustomed to. She’s never quite sure what is going on behind those deep brown eyes but the task of figuring it out, learning what Yaz wants from her and satisfaction of giving it to her, quells the ruckus of her mind. The thought of Yaz being a silent commander—encouraging her along with burning glances—fills her with nervous longing. The dark desire circling her eyes is enough stimulus to last the Doctor a lifetime — or at least a generation. She lets her hand return to her cunt, keeping eye contact as her face contorts at the tension it inspires. She runs long slow lines up and down, spreading herself around just like Yaz would. 

Her hips buck against the tips of her fingers as she pushes downward spirals across her clit. _“Yaz… Yaz—“_ Her words sound whiney, almost tearful to her own ear and she tries not to be embarrassed by it.

A nimble hand slips up the front of her shirt, lazily palming her breast before squeezing her nipple. She comes quietly under the covers, still half-dressed.

Wiping her hand on the sheet next to her,she lets her breathing still and her hearts return to their normal pace, Yaz’s fingers still absentmindedly playing with her nipple. She feels a little sheepish — slightly embarrassed by her insatiability. Before she can say anything, Yaz plants a soft kiss on her shoulder and pulls her close, tracing lines up and down the skin on at her ribs.

“Night, Doctor,” she murmurs, barely audible, sleep already becoming her. 

"Night Yaz,” the Doctor whispers back. _I’m sorry._


	6. Cinema

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> they go to the cinema and its leads to... strap-ons?

The sky is a magnificent deep blue, speckled with purple shadows and golden stars. This is the darkest this planet will get for the next four solar cycles, a planet in perpetual dusk. It’s beautiful and even after all her lifespan, the Doctor remains in awe. Her fam is back together, sat cosily on flimsy deckchairs wrapped in blankets, watching a movie in an outdoor cinema. 

“Stalquts are naturally phenomenal actors,” the Doctor had informed them while they set up camp for the best view. “They basically invented musical theatre!” 

The movie playing is a classic romance; boy-meets-girl with all the cheese and cliché to match. Apparently, some storylines transcend even space and time. The girl is beautiful, mousy brown hair with a cute fringe and deep blue eyes. The Doctor watches her intently, the projection so big she can see the pixels in the light; it’s almost dreamlike. Her pursuer the Doctor hardly makes a note of. He’s tall, muscular but not bulky, something she would’ve expected to see in the mirror at one point or another. As if he were a vessel, her mind blanks the character out and fills the void with herself. 

_'I need you, Julia. I’ve always needed you…’_

He sweeps her up in a grand romantic kiss, lifting Julia off her feet, and the crowd behind them erupts in whoops and coos. Yaz looks over her shoulder to look at the excited audience, white teeth glowing as she grins at the flying popcorn. The whoops soon turn to whistles and hoots when the scene cuts to one more intimate. 

The man stands above a naked Julia, boxers being pushed down masculine legs as he readies himself to fuck her. It’s an explicit scene and the audience goes quiet as he leans down, the air of the night becoming a little hotter, a little more serious. Or was that just the Doctor? A close up of Julia’s expression shows her mouth going slack as he—assumably—enters her. It entrancing and reminds the Doctor of Yaz; the curl of her mouth, the furrowing of her brow, her white teeth.

_Okay, Doctor. Enough of that._ It’s not that she feels bad fantasising about her anymore, they’ve had sex enough times she knows the mental image she keeps was given freely. It’s just the specificities of the fantasy feel too intimate. Too gentle.

As soon at the thought pops into her head the younger woman is leaning it, her breath ghosting against the Doctor’s ear, sending shivers down her neck. “Imagine that's you…” The Doctor looks again at the screen, strong hands wrapped around feminine wrists, hard steady thrusts jostling her whole body. “…and I’m him.” 

The Doctor’s breath catches in her throat at the thought. She’d never really considered it, the idea of getting fucked like that. Being so completely filled, her body ploughed into; and for Yaz to be the one to do it. Images of her rush through the Doctor’s mind, her hair bouncing, breath ragged the exertions of hard thrusts, her thrusts. It sends a rush of desire straight to her core. This is a fantasy she’s comfortable with — purely carnal, removed from asceticism and emotion.

********

“I’ve gotta tell ya, Doc, I’m really enjoying these more relaxed trips you’ve been taking us on. I haven’t felt threatened in weeks,” Graham takes a bite of his cheese and pickle sandwich at the TARDIS kitchen table. 

Before she can respond a flash of blue appears before them— 

_“Delivery for the Doctor.”_

“Ay, it’s a Kablam Man! Ordered anything good?” Ryan jumps from his seat to approach the robot that now stands before them. “They're still really creepy,” he observes of the piercing blue mechanical eyes. 

“Erm.. no. Nothing special,” the Doctor’s hearts beat in her chest when she sees Ryan pick up that package. “You can just leave it on the side,” she sees Yaz give her a suspicious look across the room and she knows the blush around her cheeks has given away the contents of the parcel. 

Ryan plops the box down in the middle of the kitchen table, oblivious to what it contains. 

“You gonna open that?” Graham nods, raising his brow. 

“Nothin’ important,” the Doctor scrunches her nose and shakes her head, internally begging for them both to drop it. 

“Y’sure Doctor? I can get you a knife?” Yaz chirps up from the back, a wicked grin spreading across her face. 

“No! No— It’s fine. Really.” Oh, how that woman loves to embarrass her. 

There are a few torturous minutes of silence where the conversation fails to pick up again, the Doctor’s eyes not leaving the package, before she leaps to her feet. “I should check on the TARDIS, make sure she’s ready for tomorrow,” she turns to leave before turning back and picking up her package, carrying it off under her arm, unable to control the blush on her cheeks, avoiding Yaz's

intrusive eyes with all her might.

********

“What’s in the box, Doctor?” Yaz leans against the doorframe to the Doctor’s bedroom, having found the Doctor sat crosslegged on the foot of the bed, parcel at her side, waiting impatiently. 

“Got you a present,” the Doctor replies goofily. 

“Me a present? Or you a present?” Yaz raises an eyebrow.

“Hoping it’ll be equally beneficial,” she shrugs, coat drowning her frame. 

Yaz casually approaches the bed. Making no effort to touch the Doctor, she peers inside the open box with her arms crossed. The toy inside is silicone black, not realistic, an average size already attached to a leather harness. “Is that how big you were when you were a man?” 

The Doctor glances down at the toy, “maybe a few times.” 

“D’you remember what it felt like? Being inside someone?” She picks up the toy, feeling it in her hands; the weight, the girth. 

The Doctor blushes slightly at the memories. “Yeah,” she says dryly. 

“Y’remember being inside some girls mouth?”

Images of River on her knees flash through the Doctor’s mind, they send shivers down her spine. “Yeah.”

Yaz's eyes are dark when she finally looks up from the toy in her hand. “And did you ever consider what it was like for her?” Yaz holds the tip of the toy to the Doctor’s lips, dragging her bottom lip away from her teeth. It sends a hot rush of embarrassment over her cheeks.

She can barely comprehend what Yaz even said with that dark look in her eyes fixated on her lips. But, she supposes she never really did consider what it was like. Ever since she’d inhabited this female form, male aggression has threatened her, changed the way submission to men feels. She’d experienced submission to men from a male perspective, sure, but now it felt different. More impactful, somehow.

“Open your mouth for me, Doctor,” Yaz commands and the Doctor obliges. 

Yaz's hand finds a home at the back of the Doctor’s neck, sinking into blonde locks. She pushes the toy slowly into the Doctor’s mouth, waiting patiently as she adjusts and lets her reflex relax. “Good,” Yaz praises and the Doctor lets it slip in a little more. She moves the strap to her hips, holding the toy at her pelvis as if it were attached. 

The Doctor starts to suck the toy, bobbing her head, lips running against the black shaft. She can feel it filling her mouth and throat, smooth hard silicone depressing her tongue. It’s not pleasant but not painful either; an intrusion so intimate and assertive it’s impossible to overlook. 

“Look at me, Doctor.” Yaz’s chest is heaving under her leather jacket. It’s not often she lets on how turned on she is but the Doctor can see her pupils expanding and her pulse beating in her neck. She can’t help letting out a moan at the sight as they lock eyes. 

Before she can take another measured breath through her nose, Yaz is pushing her away with a hand on her chest, the toy slipping from her mouth. “Take off your clothes.” Her hand slips up to cup the Doctor’s jaw; it’s gentle and loving, juxtaposing their previous interaction, “I’ll be right back.” 

The bathroom door shuts and the Doctor is left alone on the bed. She’s a mixture of excited and nervous; excited for the pleasure, for the look in Yaz's eyes, for the feeling of her close; nervous for… well, what if she doesn't like it? What if all these years, all this life, she’d been offering mediocrity? What if she ruins it for Yaz? 

The gets up off the bed and slips off her coat and shoes. She strips with shaky hands and folds her clothes to pass the time. Her body is thrumming in that familiar way she’s learnt to associate with Yaz; skin vibrating, hearts jumping. She sits back down and resists the desire to touch herself; she knows she’s wet but Yaz would probably be annoyed if she starts without her. Instead, her fingers trace feather-light lines across her chest, down her sternum, around the contours of her breasts; it sends goosebumps down her arms. She sighs when she glides her thumb over a nipple and watches it pebble.

The bathroom door clicking open makes her jump. Yaz's figure stands under the doorframe; naked, brown skin glowing under the amber lights; her hair loose. Thick black curls cascade down to her waist and frame her face _._ Black leather hugs her hips—thin straps pushing into her skin just enough to make the flesh look soft and squeezable—and attached is the toy that stands between her thighs. 

Neither speak as Yaz approaches the bed. There’s a flash of nervousness in her eye that the Doctor’s never seen before, not in any sexual situation at least. She looks so powerful—her mane catching glimmers of gold light—but that dash of timidity remains. The Doctor shuffles herself back a bit on the foot of the bed and, without breaking eye contact, lets her knees fall open without being commanded. It’s like she’s offering herself up to the lions to be feasted upon.

The act garners brilliant results as Yaz's eyes drop to her exposed core and all her hesitation dissipates. “Lay back,” her voice is deep and gravelly with desire as she climbs on the bed, pushing the Doctor’s knees up and apart to lay herself between them.

She kisses her lazily, deeply, lovingly. Her tongue pushes into her mouth and they're perfectly in sync with each other, a hand gently brushing blonde hair. The kiss is so perfect the Doctor almost forgets the lubed-up toy sitting between them, cold and sticky and unintentionally resting on her clit. Almost.

The younger woman moves her attention lower, peppering kisses down the Doctor’s face until she reaches her pulse point. The feeling of Yaz’s lips on the vulnerable skin of her neck, her fingers caressing her scalp and her chest pressed up against her body is almost too much for the Doctor to bear; she feels ready to burst, whether into tears or explosions she can’t be sure. 

“Y’ready?” Yaz asks after what feels like hours of gentle kissing. 

“Very ready. Never been more ready.” It causes Yaz to laugh a little as her hand disappears between their bodies to angle the toy. _“Oh!”_ The Doctor can’t help the exclamation as she feels the tip run lines through her. She does it a few times before the Doctor pitifully whimpers, _“please.”_

Yaz teases at her throbbing entrance for a second before pushing it inside, painstakingly slow. The feeling of being filled overcomes her as the toy slips in surprisingly easy. A mild stretching sensation accompanying the feeling isn’t at all unpleasant.

Yaz's hand returns to her hair, fingers tucking into locks so her thumb rests on the Doctor’s temple. “How’s that?” 

The Doctor nod frantically, “Hmmm... Good… That’s good.” She’s just about to talk again when Yaz pulls halfway out and then slowly thrusts back in, leaving the Doctor’s comment a mere strangled moan. 

She starts a slow but steady rhythm, letting her whole body guide the movements of the toy. The Doctor revels in the feeling of hard silicone stroking the sweet spot inside her, of Yaz's hot breath on her neck and cheek, of the pillow messing up her hair beneath her head as her whole body gets jolted with every thrust.

Yaz's tongue runs a line up the shell of the Doctor's ear. She's so close, physically, yet still, the desire to have more of Yaz is almost tangible. She wants her closer, wants her deeper, wants her desperately and simply. Her hands find luscious curls and the feeling of the hair running between her fingers is almost as erotic as the wet kisses on her neck. 

“Right th _… Hmmm…_ ” The Doctor moans an endless moan as Yaz finds the perfect spot. She just about short circuits when Yaz increases her pace, pushing the Doctor closer and closer to the edge.

“Does that feel good?” Yaz breathes in her ear.

_“Yes.”_

“Y’so pretty like this,” she looks into the Doctor’s glossy eyes for a moment before the eye contact gets too intense and she dips down to kiss her neck. “I wanna see you undone,” she mumbles through heavy pants into the skin.

The amalgam of sensations and praise has the Doctor tumbling in an instant, _“I… I…”_

“Let go, Doctor. Come for me.”

The Doctor’s ankles tie themselves behind Yaz, clamping down and holding her close as her orgasm washes over her. The last thing she sees before her eyes snap shut and her head flies back are Yaz’s lips pressed to the soft skin of her wrist, planting a gentle kiss there.

When she finally comes down Yaz pins that wrist above her head and kisses her a little rougher than before as if to make up for the accidental tenderness. 

“That was—” She sighs through interrupting kisses, “brilliant.” When Yaz reaches down to undo the harness, she lets it slip from her body and the toy out from the Doctor simultaneously and the feeling of being empty is entirely disappointing. She lies down next to her—hand on her chest, hair splayed across the sheets—and the Doctor is hit with a feeling of adoration. It lodges itself in her chest for a moment before she can swallow it down. “Y’really good at that. Way better than I was, probably.” 

“I doubt that,” Yaz laughs. “All that experience? Something tells me you’re like a pro.” 

“Well, I don’t know about that. Expert, maybe,” the Doctor grins.

“Oh yeah?” Yaz giggles. “We’ll have to put that to the test, won’t we?” Dark eyes replace humorousones as she leans in to kiss the Doctor once more. When she pulls away, the discarded toy hangs loosely between her fingers. “Go on then.”

********

The Doctor turns the toy over in her hands, trying to orient herself with the contraption and cocking her head at the various straps. “Harness part I’m not familiar with,” she frowns. 

Yaz laughs and snatches it back. “Right, stand up,” she turns the strap vertical and holds it out like a pair of pants. She can’t help letting her eyes roam up the Doctor’s milky skin as the woman raises a leg to step into the harness. “C’me here,” she giggles, pulling her closer to tighten the buckle on the Doctor’s left hip. 

“Oh, yeah. That brings back memories.” The Doctor strokes herself like its muscle memory and the action makes Yaz's mouth water. 

“Oh, Doctor…” She lets her eyes take in the sight as she sits back on the bed: the Doctor, hair ruffled from getting fucked, cheeks rosy, stood pulling herself off, eyes dark as sin. There’s a sly smile on her face and finally, finally, she’s in her element. 

“Where do you want me?” The Doctor asks eagerly but Yaz only shakes her head. 

“Where do you want me, Doctor?” 

Before she can say another word the Doctor is grabbing at her hips, pulling her ass towards the edge of the bed, causing a squeal to leap from her throat. Two fingers slide through her heat, feeling how wet she is. The Doctor pushes the tip of the toy across Yaz's clit then taps it a few times—free hand resting on Yaz's knee—evoking sharp gasps. 

Without further teasing, the Doctor pushes the toy straight into Yaz's core. She feels it stretch her gloriously and the Doctor stills for only a second, glancing up at Yaz’s expression to check she’s ok before starting her thrusts. 

She’s still stood on the bedroom’s hardwood floor—one knee resting on the edge of the bed for a better angle—hovering above Yaz. Her abdominals flex under her skin as she thrusts, tits moving with each jolt of her small but powerful body. Her hair is a complete mess and strands of blonde obscure her face apart from the kiss swollen, rosy lips, hung wide open as she pants with the exertion. It’s so different from the way Yaz fucked her; like she’d become impatient with the pace and had to change things up. Not that Yaz was complaining.

Yaz thinks she’s starting to see stars as the monumental pleasure of those rapid hits keeps a steady pace, but she refuses to close her eyes even for a second if it means missing out on that beautiful view. 

The way the Doctor fucks is frantic, quick and needy and excitable. She really couldn’t imagine it any other way. Her hands grip onto Yaz's thighs for leverage, pale hands against brown skin, desperately trying to keep up her pace. 

It’s all so much so quickly Yaz can already feel her orgasm building; she closes her eyes for a second, throwing her head back to let herself feel the sensations the Doctor is providing. _“Fuck, Doctor…”_

She’s almost there, so close to that explosive feeling she can almost taste it. She just needs— 

The Doctor’s hand is at her abdomen, palm pushing down a little just above her pubic bone and then her thumb reaches down, brushing across her clit in perfect upward strokes. 

_“Oh my g-…”_ If that isn’t what makes Yaz come undone it’s the visual from opening her eyes to see the Doctor grinning mercilessly at her; a sheen of sweat covering her forehead as her whole body jerks in those perfectly erotic jolts, a little tension around her nose where the effort takes its toll and she scrunches up her face.

The orgasm rains down with unrelenting power causing Yaz's whole body to shudder as her walls clench and release around the toy over and over. 

“S… Stop—“ Yaz has to vocalise when the Doctor’s final, slowed down thrusts carry on drawing out ripples of pleasure. They’re both gasping for air when coherent thoughts return, one hand on Yaz's clammy knee, breasts heaving. 

“You really are the best person I’ve ever met,” Yaz covers her face with her elbow, a breathy laugh erupting from her throat at how hard she just came. 

The Doctor pulls out gently, causing Yaz's cunt to flutter, and takes Yaz's hand as she flops down on the bed. She lies on her back, messing with Yaz's fingers, fake cock stood erect between her legs. Yaz catches her observing herself curiously and wonders briefly if the Doctor misses her previous anatomy, whether this had confused her further or made adjusting easier. “You don’t have to keep it on if you don’t like it.” 

Her eyes snap up from their lock on the toy, “Why? We’re not done yet, are we? Feel like I was pretty good at that.” 

A relieved smile covers Yaz's face. “Oh, we’re definitely not done.” Yaz laughs, leaning in to kiss the Doctor’s neck. “I like you confident almost as much as I like you shy,” she mumbles into skin, drawing out that gorgeous blush she'd missed. “Or, I guess I should say cocky.”

“Good word that, cocky,” the Doctor smiles.

There’s a flash of something left unsaid in her eyes but Yaz is too nervous to pry and examine so instead she says, “I agree,” and licks her lips before throwing a leg over her thighs.


	7. Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the doctor ends up at dinner with yap's family. this don't go entirely as planned

Yaz dances around the TARDIS kitchen, dropping her teaspoon into the sink and passing out mugs to the fam. There’s an incurable energy running through her ever since her last… date? Alone time? Shag? With the Doctor. It’s like she can’t sit still. The Doctor leans over the work surface, facing away from Yaz, chatting to Ryan and Graham about possibly going home for a few days. She’s coatless, navy jumper tucked into those classic blue culottes that perfectly hug her ass. 

Yaz slides her tea across the work surface next to her but she doesn’t notice and continues her ramblings. Then an idea pops into her head. 

She bends down, pretending to tie a shoelace, so she’s hidden from the boys. One hand slides to the inside of the Doctor’s knee. 

“Wh—?” She starts to look down to ask what Yaz is doing but before she can say a word Yaz pops back up again, hand coming with her to rest at the Doctor’s inner thigh. 

“Shoelace,” Yaz grins at the boys, smile turning dark as she makes eye contact with an astonished but silent Doctor. “What are we talking about? Tea’s there, Doctor.” 

“Just that it might be good to go home for a few days. See the boys n' that,” Ryan updates her. 

“Good idea,” Yaz slides her hand up higher, fingers just grazing the apex of her thighs from behind. “Wouldn’t mind seeing my family for a bit.”

The Doctor grabs her tea when Yaz shifts to cup her over her trousers, clumsily bringing it to her face to hide the blush that covers her cheeks.

“How long you thinking for?” 

“Just a couple’a days. 'Nough for a few rounds of cards,” says Graham. “Ay, I’ll tell you what…” 

Yaz nods along politely to Graham’s talk, her fingers pressing into the Doctor’s cunt as she grabs at her ass. She can see how red the Doctor’s ears are out of her periphery, can hear the sharp intake of breath when she hits a particularly sensitive spot. 

Yaz moves her fingers further forward and the Doctor’s legs clamp around her hand when the sensation gets too much. 

"…but anyway, what do you say, Doc? Two or three days?” Finally given an excuse to look right at her Yaz is stunned by her blown-out pupils and flushed cheeks. 

“Y—yeah. I’ve got plenty to do here. I’ll be busy. Busy, B—busy… Lot’s of maintenance.” Yaz can’t resist pressing down with devious jolts of her fingers as the Doctor talks, interrupting her speaking pattern. “Correspondence. C—correspondence… about maintenance.” Her legs clamp down again and she shakes her head as if to clear the fog in her mind. 

“Right. Well, we’ll go back up some stuff then,” Graham turns, slapping Ryan on the shoulder to do the same. 

As soon as they're gone the Doctor lets out a deep moan, “that were unfair.” 

“By who’s rules?” Yaz asks, turning the Doctor by the hips to push her against the work surface.

“All the rules!” 

Yaz can’t help but laugh into the skin of the Doctor’s neck as she leaves wet kisses there. “I only wanna go home for a night. Pick me up tomorrow, take me somewhere?” She’s not entirely sure whether she’s asking for a date or not but she decides not to overthink it. 

“I know just the place.” The Doctor holds her gaze for a second and Yaz is filled with nothing but the feeling that she is exactly where she wants to be before the sound of Ryan returning forces them apart again. 

********

“It’s only a little break though, yeah?” Ryan calls over thrashing rain, elbow up to his face to shield his eyes from the spray. 

“Meet back here in three days!” The Doctor replies through the night, hair already getting wet in the rain. It’s the first time the fam have gone back to their normal lives in months (or so it feels, it really is impossible to tell inside the TARDIS). 

“You sure you’re gonna be alright on your own?” Graham calls out but he’s already backing away, desperate to get out of the rain.

“Ah, y’know, finally a bit a peace and quiet!” She calls back unconvincingly, breath visible under the street light. Yaz laughs and is just about to turn and walk towards her flat when she sees the Doctor walk straight into the TARDIS with a bump. 

“You alright there, Doctor?” She can see the Doctor’s fingers pressed up against the door, softly whispering to the blue box. 

“Yep!” She spins round to look at her. “Forgot my key.” 

“She’s locked you out, hasn’t she?” Yaz can’t help the swell of that unnameable feeling she has for the Doctor when she takes in the sight of her dripping hair and scrunched up face. 

“It’s probably fine. She’ll let me back in eventually,” she waves off Yaz's concern. 

“Well in meantime, wanna come dry off at mine?” 

“Yes. Yes I would. Brilliant. Love drying off at yours,” and suddenly she’s marching past, boots splashing in puddles, off towards Yaz's like she’s leading the way. 

********

“Home!” Yaz calls out as she shuts the door behind the Doctor. “Doctor’s here too!”

“Doctor! How are you? You’re back late,” Najia suddenly appears from the hallway, glass of wine in hand. “Where’ve you been? Feel like I haven’t seen you in ages. I know it were only last week but, still,” she doesn’t wait for a response, stroking Yaz's face briefly before walking off back towards the sofa. “Wines open in the kitchen love, help yourselves.” 

“Thanks, Mum.” She turns and starts sliding the Doctor’s wet coat down her arms for her, not really considering how it looks until halfway through and then glancing round to check her mum is really gone. “Want a glass?” She asks over her shoulder when Najia is out of sight. 

“Never had alcohol in this body before. Not sure if I like it.” 

“Well we’re good at experimenting, aren’t we Doctor?” She leans in seductively to whisper in the Doctor’s ear, causing her to spin round. Her jaw drops open but no response comes out. Leaving the Doctor speechless is always a win in Yaz's book. 

Yaz pours two healthy glasses and hands one to the Doctor. She takes a gulp and holds it in her mouth, brows furrowing— 

“Don’t spit it out!” Yaz warns. The Doctor swallows with a grimace. “Oh my god, you don’t have to have it,” she laughs, holding out a hand for the glass. 

“No! I like it. Only wanted to spit it out for a second. Took me a while but I like it,” she nods cheerfully, dodging Yaz's hand by holding the glass close. 

Yaz eyes her suspiciously, “alright, if you insist. C’mon then, to my room. Need to sort me hair before it drys.” She skirts past the blonde, heading down the hallway to her bedroom. 

Her room’s modern. Crisp white walls, Ikea furniture and white bedsheets. There’s a desk by the window, a single cheese plant next to her computer and a framed photograph of Detective Sergeant Ellie Miller which Doctor instantly picks up. “Who’s that? I love a cheese plant. I’ll take you to Monstera Deliciosa one day if you like. Whole place is full of ‘em. As it would be.” 

Yaz sits on the end of her bed, pulling her bobble out and towelling her hair dry. “Can we go there tomorrow?” 

“Nah. Got something better planned for that.” She continues exploring Yaz's room, no regard for any sense of privacy, opening her desk draws and ferreting around through the loose pens and papers. “What’s in there?” She points to a door. 

“Wardrobe.” There’s no point answering as the Doctor has already swung open both doors and is skimming through the hanging clothes. “Ah! What do you think?” 

Yaz looks up from towelling her hair to see the Doctor in her police hat. “Suits you better than me,” she laughs. 

“I love a hat. Still haven’t found one right for this body though. What’s in there?” She asks, already opening the ensuite door, wine still in hand. “Wow! Big shower!” The Doctor’s voice echos across the bathroom tiles and Yaz follows her in to grab her hairbrush. 

Yaz feels that wave of… something in her chest looking at the Doctor: damp jumper hanging from her frame, wet hair tucked behind her ears, wearing a police hat with a glass of merlot in her hand. She’s bizarre and absurd and absolutely perfect. “You’re so ridiculous,” she beams and the Doctor beams back. She thinks about walking up to her and taking off that stupid hat and kissing her softly and—

“Yaz love?” Najia calls from her doorway and Yaz, for some odd reason, panics like she’s doing something wrong. 

“Yeah?” She splutters slightly, exiting the bathroom to meet her mother at the door.

“Dinner in twenty minutes. Is the Doctor staying?” She eyes the older woman curiously and Yaz's blushes at the insinuation this is going to be a mum-dad-please-meet-my-girlfriend dinner. 

“Erm—Yeah. Her… car broke down,” she stumbles over the half-lie and the Doctor raises her eyebrows and nods in agreement. 

“Very unreliable, that old thing,” she assures. 

“Well. Your father’s made pakora. Plenty to go around,” she smiles a bit too sweetly before turning back down the hall and Yaz suppresses the desire to explain away her relationship with the Doctor, knowing it will only inspire more curiosity. And really, what could she say? 

********

“Ah, a hairdryer! Can I have a go? Haven’t had this much hair in a very long time,” the Doctor says, lifting the little machine from it’s home.

“Sure,” Yaz smiles, a bit bemused. “Sit here.”

The Doctor sits on the edge of the bed, glass in hand, as Yaz sits on her knees behind her. She flicks the hairdryer on, warm air instantly ruffling the Doctor’s hair. 

“That’s amazing!” She shouts over the noise with her nose scrunched up, strands of blonde cover her face. It doesn’t take much to dry the hair but the comfort of the white noise and the warmth of the hot air relaxes Yaz beyond comprehension and she’s suddenly hit with the realisation that she’s home. Not just here, physically in her bedroom, but here, with the Doctor. She always feels at home with her.

She styles the blonde hair, gets it perfectly straight with the blowdryer and her comb. Rolling the ends under so it lifts in all the right places. She watches how the Doctor leans in against the brush like a cat against a palm and how the bristles on her scalp send goosebumps down her neck. She thinks about what else could cause a response like that.

“Right. You’re done,” Yaz says with a final brush. Her knees rest at either side of the Doctor’s hips; their bodies almost flush front to back. 

“Does it look good?” The Doctor cranes her head back to ask and Yaz hands her a compact mirror. She looks almost professional with it so sleek. Yaz wants to muss it up again. She inspects her reflection, turning her head left and right to get various angles in the small mirror, while Yaz hovers over her shoulder. 

Yaz is taken aback by the dark look in her own reflection. “You look so good,” she says and their eyes lock in the glass as she pulls the hair back on the right side, exposing the Doctor’s neck. 

The Doctor's breath hitches as Yaz places a red hot kiss on the freshly exposed skin on her neck. She gives her hair an almost aggressive tug, pulling the Doctor’s head backwards to expose her neck. Her other hand slides around to pull the Doctor’s navy sweater from her trousers, slipping easily beneath to feel smooth skin of her belly, giving it a gentle squeeze. 

The Doctor gasps when nimble fingers slip under the elastic band of her cotton bra. She pinches and rolls an already hardened nipple. “I wanna make you scream so loud, Doctor.” Her own words make her cunt throb as she hears the effect they have on the Doctor’s breathing. “I wanna make you come so hard y’forget what planet we’re on.” 

“That’s… That’s a possibility.” 

“Stand up,” Yaz breaths into her ear and the Doctor does as she’s told, placing her wine on the floor before standing at the foot of the bed.

Yaz kneels in front of her, a little wobbly on the soft mattress. She lifts the navy sweater enough to leave kisses across the Doctor’s abdomen, sighing as she feels delicate fingers come to rest in her hair; not pushy, just needy. She pulls the sweater higher and lifts the Doctor’s bra too, exposing two rosy nipples. She runs a hot tongue over the left, letting it swirl across the hardened flesh, before doing the same on the right, leaving them glistening and pink. 

She pulls back to admire her work—one perfectly exposed Doctor— and then blows cool air over the damp skin. It causes goosebumps to rise over her chest and the Doctor mewls. She lets her tongue slide past pouting lips and she pulls her slender body close against her own. Close enough to share a portion of time and space, close like she can’t quite believe of all the times and places the Doctor could be, she’s here, with Yaz.

Yaz thinks the thought might make her cry if she gives it too much power and so her fingers find the Doctor’s nipples, two thumbs rubbing the silky saliva across her pebbled flesh. She plucks at them and then twists and it extracts the most beautiful sound from the Doctor’s throat. 

“Yaz! Doctor! Dinner!” Hakim's calls send adrenaline straight to Yaz's chest. 

“Fuck!" They both leap back. Yaz’s heart in her throat, she quickly yanks the Doctor’s bra and shirt back down. 

“Well, that were bad timing,” the Doctor’s eyes are dark as sin and her lips are red from kissing as she tucks the jumper back into her trousers. Yaz sits back on her ankles, hand on her lips suppressing a laugh. 

********

“You alright, Doctor? You look flushed,” Hakim asks as he places a dish in front of the Doctor. 

“Me? I’m fine! Probably the wine. Haven’t got used to it yet,” the Doctor says and raises her glass to sip. The comment causes some slight brow-furrowing among the table. 

“You might wanna be careful with that,” Yaz leans in to whisper to the Doctor, “wine can be pretty lethal.” She watches as the Doctor’s eyes lock onto her mouth as she talks, her tongue slipping out to lick her lips as if she were salivating at the sight. 

“So, Doctor, what is it you do exactly?” Najia asks from across the table.

“I’m a traveller,” the Doctor answers honestly over a gob full of food. 

“No job then?” Najia follows up. 

“Mum!” Yaz warns with an exasperated frown. 

“I consult, occasionally.” The Doctor’s thigh presses up against Yaz's but she doesn’t break from her chatting with Najia. Yaz gets the hint and rests her hand on the Doctor’s knee, fingers gripping at soft flesh through the fabric. 

The conversation flows more easily once the Doctor is no longer the main topic of interest. Yaz chokes a little on her food when the Doctor pushes a lock of hair behind her ear to reveal a purple bruise on her neck. There’s no way for her to get the message across without drawing more attention to it so her eyes lock to her plate while she pleads with the universe no one else at the table notices. 

They’re chatting about another one of Hakim’s conspiracy theories and Yaz thinks the Doctor might have calmed down from their recent interaction when suddenly her palm is covering the hand on her knee, trying to encourage Yaz's hand up higher. The act makes Yaz blood pressure rise a little but she complies with the request, watching the Doctor’s eyes go a little hazy as her fingers start rubbing oblongs along her inner thigh, so close to where she wants her. 

She wants to push her even further, wants to cup her under the table and rub harsh lines over the seam of her trousers while she tries to contain her composure. She would if only it wasn’t her family sat across from them. The risk is too great even for Yaz and so she pulls the hand away and puts down her cutlery. 

“That was amazing,” she lies to her dad. “I’ll clear up.” She stands to take plates and the Doctor rises to assist her. 

Plates clatter into the sink and before Yaz can turn the tap on the Doctor has wormed her way between her and the work surface. “You know this is an open-plan flat, right?” Yaz whispers, fearing if someone were to round the kitchen corner they’d be in for quite the surprise. They’re hidden only by the L-shape of the kitchen and the voices of her family from around the dining table are perfectly clear. 

The Doctor’s eyes are filled with need as her lips find Yaz's neck. “I have excellent hearing,” she mumbles into the warm skin and Yaz thinks this might be her favourite type of Doctor: so needy, so desperate it overrides her logic and her shame. The Doctor grabs at Yaz's wrist and pushes her hand down so Yaz is cupping her over her trousers. She wants to make a snarky comment about how desperate she is but she’s afraid her family will hear. Plus, the heat of her cunt is very distracting and she can’t think of one good enough. She keeps her hand still for a moment, simply holding it there while the Doctor squirms around her, trying to encourage some movement.

The Doctor looks up with a pout. "Please?” She asks so earnestly, the edges of an impatient whine on her lips. 

Yaz finally complies, curling her fingers to rub her over her trousers. Pulling out sighs from the Doctor as her head rests limply on her shoulder, occasionally kissing her clavicle. The sighs border moans and it sends fire straight to Yaz's cunt as she feels the warmth radiate through the Doctor’s trousers into her hand. 

The contact lasts mere seconds before the scratching of chair legs against wooden floor alerts them both to Najia’s movements. The Doctor pulls away with a groan and grabs a tea towel just in time as Najia appears around the corner.

“Staying the night, Doctor? I can pull the sofa bed out for you?” She asks, placing used glasses on the side and grabbing her coat.

“Don’t worry! I’m sure Yaz's bed is big enough,” she smiles right at a Najia, completely oblivious to the insinuation as well as her surprised eyebrow raise. 

“Right,” Najia gives Yaz a look that says, _well, she’s bold._ Yaz wishes the ground would swallow her whole as she feels a little blush cross her cheeks. Her mouth opens and shuts, opens and shuts, trying to form words that don’t dig her into a deeper hole. Nothing comes out. “Well, Sonya’s at her friends. It’s drinks with Meera and Peter tonight so we’ll be back late.” 

“Right. Good! Have fun, yeah?” Yaz breathes a sigh of relief. 

“Yeah,” Najia agrees and plants a red wine and perfume soaked kiss on Yaz's cheek as she leaves. “Bye, Doctor!” She calls over her shoulder. 

“Bye, Yaz's mum!” The Doctor calls back and Yaz thinks she can hear her mum’s eyes roll at the name. 

There’s a minute, which feels like an hour, of dark eye contact while Yaz's parents fumble around with shoes and coats before the front door finally clicks shut. It’s like they take all the oxygen with them when that door closes and they’re finally alone. The Doctor puts the tea towel down and walks to meet Yaz, her mouth immediately reconnecting with her neck, her hands eagerly grabbing at Yaz's clothes. Again, Yaz doesn’t respond and lets the Doctor needly kiss and suck and grab before pulling back with a pout and a frown. 

“Please?” She asks again and it Yaz knows she’ll never get sick of that feeling. The feeling of being so wanted by the Doctor, of holding just a bit of real power of her.

Naturally, Yaz turns on her heels and walks in the opposite direction. She glances over her shoulder as she walks off at a rather confused Doctor before commanding her to follow, “my room.” 

The Doctor gives an elated sigh of relief and skips past as Yaz holds open the bedroom door for her. 

Before they even reach the bed Yaz's hand is back up under her jumper, taking a nipple between her fingers. “Are you going to be good for me, Doctor?” She asks and the Doctor nods dumbly with deep inky eyes. 

Her hands find the Doctor's hips and she shoves her suddenly backwards. A shocked smile covers the Doctor’s face when she lands with her back on the bed and Yaz makes a mental note that manhandling is a green-light. And then she’s on her, bodies flush together. Yaz's hand is in blonde hair while her knees straddle her waist, tongue dipping down to lick a long line over the now-familiar rhythm of two hearts beating. The Doctor has spoilt her forever now, as one heart simply wouldn’t do. 

Yaz's hands leave her hair to yank the jumper up over the Doctor’s head. She bunches the fabric around the Doctor’s wrists and pushes her somewhat-bound arms up above her head. “Stay,” she commands. She pulls the cotton bra up once more, leaving it around her pecs but exposing her nipples. She twists both nipples simultaneously, plucking at them and rolling them until the Doctor is squirming beneath her. She dips down to lick across the left, pushing them together and sucking and biting.

The Doctors hips jerk when she pulls a nipple between her teeth, trying to grind up against Yaz's body and her hands grab at anything within reach; the sheets, the pillows, the—

“What’s this?” It comes out as a groan as the Doctor’s fingers wrap around the small black object. 

Yaz looks up from her place at the Doctor’s chest to see what she’s found among the sheets. “That,” she takes it from her hands and then pushes her wrists back to where they should be, “is my vibrator.” She flicks it on to the first setting and the Doctor watches curiously. 

“Is that all it does?” 

“Don’t knock it ’til you’ve tried it,” Yaz warns, running the angled tip of the vibrator around the Doctor’s right nipple making the flesh vibrate. 

“I just… _Hmmm, that’s nice…_ I could probably… make my sonic do that.”

Without a word Yaz turns the device off and chucks it to the side, suddenly considering it useless. “Which pocket?” 

“Left.” 

Yaz is pulls the sonic out and handing it to the Doctor to meddle with. There’s something irresistibly depraved about fucking the Doctor with something seemingly so innocuous, so public. She knows she’ll never be able to look at the device the same way again, and neither will the Doctor. 

The Doctor hands the sonic back and Yaz tries out the controls, flicking through three settings, off and then on again. She can’t help the devilish smile that branches across her expression once her plan is fully formed. Standing briefly at the foot of the bed, she undoes the blonde’s trousers and roughly yanks them down her thighs along with her underwear. She doesn’t take them off all the way, choosing instead to keep her feet slightly restrained by leaving them pooled around her ankles. She looks a picture: completely dishevelled, wrists and ankles bound by bunched-up clothes, all areas of vulnerability—pebbled nipples, pink clit through blonde curls—entirely on display. It’s breathtaking. 

Yaz climbs back on the bed, straddling the Doctor’s knees, eliciting a gasp as she gives those pretty curls between her thighs a gentle tug. “Don’t move. And don’t come,” Yaz commands before turning the sonic to the first setting and sliding the tip through the Doctor’s wetness. 

_“Ugh!”_ It’s deep and guttural and if Yaz wasn’t sat on the Doctor’s thighs her hips would’ve catapulted off the bed with the jolt that shoots through her whole body. There's an immediate, never-ending flow of moans and whines erupting from the Doctor as Yaz holds the sonic against her clit. It looks like she’s being electrocuted.

_“Shhh…”_ Yaz coos as she dips down to take a nipple in her mouth. 

_“Y— I… I…”_ The Doctor’s face is screwed uptight at the new sensation, head flinging back and forth. 

“Are you close?” The Doctor can only nod and so Yaz cuts the vibrations completely. The Doctor immediately goes floppy against the bed. “Do you like that?” It’s more of a check-in than a taunt but Yaz is certain of the answer. 

“Yeah,” she sigh, finally making eye contact again. She’s incredibly flushed and looks rather disoriented. 

“It’s intense the first time. Y’wanna go again?” 

“Please,” she breathes, chin brushing against the scrunched up fabric of her bra. 

When Yaz flicks the toy on again it’s like the Doctor is possessed, limbs tensing in all manner of ways. Her hips buck wildly against the sonic, as best they can under Yaz's weight. “Don’t come,” Yaz reminds her and she bites into the soft flesh of her arm to stop the flood that threatens to rush through her. 

_“I c—I can’t…”_ The vibrations stop again. _“No—! Please. Please, Yaz.”_ Her brows furrow and she looks genuinely upset that Yaz would betray her, hips still trying to grind against the stationary sonic. _“Please let me.”_

“Let you what, Doctor?” 

“Please let me come,” she whines. She’s so desperate Yaz thinks she probably doesn’t realise what she’s said until after the fact when a wave a vermilion embarrassment washes over her expression. Without hesitation, Yaz flicks the sonic to its second setting, instantly dragging a moan from the Doctor’s lungs. 

Yaz licks across her chest before sucking her nipples. She makes her way up her neck, across her face, leaving wet kissing on her cheek, her mouth, her temple. The Doctor is far too preoccupied to fully kiss back but Yaz licks into her mouth nonetheless, pulling her bottom lip in between her teeth. “Come for me, Doctor.” 

She does… on command. The wave crashes down over her, body freezing and then jolting. Yaz swallows the rapturous moan that escapes her mouth and kisses her passionately. 

Before the Doctor has even come around from the trance her orgasm had left her in, Yaz is undressing her. She pulls the fabric off her wrists and the bra from her floppy body before getting off and pulling her trousers and underwear off all the way. Her legs flop like worn-out jelly when Yaz pushes her knees apart, settling between her thighs. It’s been far too long since she’s tasted the Doctor and she revels in the proximity to her cunt before dipping her tongue down to run across her sensitive clit. Even that tiny bit of stimulation brings a twitch from her legs. 

She pulls back a bit, leaving kisses on her thighs while she spreads her knees even more to expose her cunt. “You’re not done yet. Are you, Doctor?”

Dark eyes drop from their place at the ceiling to look at her. “Could do this all day,” she sighs.

Yaz grabs the sonic with a smirk and pushes the tip of it up against her entrance, teasing her slightly and coating the device before eventually sliding it inside her. 

_“Ughhh…”_ One heel digs into the bed while the other digs into Yaz's back as Yaz flicks the sonic back on and starts a quick but shallow pace. _“Deeper…”_

Yaz can’t help but grin, “Y’that desperate, Doctor?” 

_“Yes,”_ she breathes.

“Say please,” Yaz says, unable to hide the smile in her voice.

_“Please, Yaz.”_

She pushes the metal in as far as she can. Pulling it out almost the full length before repeating the motion, over and over. It’s a peculiar sight, silver metal disappearing deep inside her. She knows she’s hitting that euphoric bundle of nerves each time as the Doctor grunts with every thrust. She leans down to taste her again, tongue lapping over her clit with merciless greed. 

_“It's so much,”_ she sounds like she might cry. _“More—P—…”_

Yaz seals her lips around her clit, sucking and licking simultaneously and—

_“Ah!”_

A gush of warm liquid coats Yaz's hand and chin. She slows the movement of the sonic, watching her cunt clench around it rapidly. Things are much more visual when it’s not her fingers inside her; she’s transfixed by it. She turns down the vibrations until it eventually stills. When she looks at the wet patch on the bed she tries quelling the voice in her head that reminds her that her mother usually changes these sheets. The sight of the Doctor fluttering as she slides the sonic out makes her dizzy with desire. 

She crawls up the Doctor’s naked body, wiping her chin on her hand on the way up, and she realises she’s managed to keep her clothes on this whole time. “You awake?” She asks when greeted with the Doctor resting with her eyes shut. She gets a smile in return and Yaz kisses it away. 

“I love my sonic,” she sighs wistfully. 

“Excuse me, I feel like I had something to do with that as well.” 

“Well…” The Doctor pauses and smiles and the most obvious response _—I love you, too—_ hangs in the air between them. Neither of them say it. But the light catches her iris just right and Yaz decides she’s done pretending she doesn't know exactly what this feeling is. She's done pretending she isn’t in love with the Doctor. It doesn’t scare her like she thought it might. Maybe it will hit her later in an avalanche of dread. For now, she’s happy.

They lie together and Yaz traces patterns across the Doctor’s bare chest, following the natural curves of her body while she recovers. She takes in every detail, every mole, the colour of her nipples, the way her ribs protrude slightly. 

“Yaz love, we're _—OH!”_

_“MUM!”_ Yaz leaps to action as her bedroom door is swung wide open and Najia gets three steps in before fully comprehending the scene in front of her. That is, one very naked Doctor, a sex toy, a wet patch and her fully clothed daughter, lying atop the covers. 

“Sorry! I—“ 

In a rush of panic, Yaz's instincts tell her to cover the Doctor—who, by all means, seems surprisingly relaxed about the whole ordeal—but makes the situation a whole lot worse when she ends up gesturing emphatically to the Doctor’s cunt. _“Get out!”_ She screams again and the whole thing feels like it lasts a lifetime, although it couldn’t be more than a few seconds. 

The door slams shut and they’re alone again and Yaz feels like her heart is about to fall out her ass. “Oh my god,” she covers her face. “I’m gonna die. I’m actually gonna die.” 

“I think she took it quite well,” the Doctor observes plainly.

“What?!” 

“Could’a been worse?” She scrunches her face and shrugs and there’s a lilt at the end of her sentence which tells Yaz she’s just picking random comforting phrases out of thin air. 

“My _mum_ just saw you _naked!”_

“We weren’t doing anything!” 

“I think that’s worse! She just thinks I’m into making you sit around naked?! She’s gonna think I’m a right pervert!” She whisper-shouts and the nervous grin on the Doctor’s face only makes things worse. 

The Doctor sits up to cup her face and places a comforting kiss on her neck, “I mean, she wouldn’t be far off.” 

Yaz gives an exasperated gasp at the jibe and slaps the Doctor’s hands away. “Get dressed. The TARDIS better be over her strop because I am not staying here.” 

********

They tip-toe down the hall of Yaz's flat towards the front door. 

“What about my coat?” The Doctor whispers as Yaz hurries her out the door.

“Just— _Shhh…”_ Yaz is so desperate not to have to look in her mother’s eye again (for a very very long time) that the world around her seems hazy with alarm. 

“Yaz,” Najia's voice pierces the silence and fills Yaz with dread. She gives the Doctor a panicked look before closing the door in her face, leaving her locked out in the hallway. “I’m worried about you—“

“Mum—“

"Who is she? She’s got to be at least 15 years older than you, Yasmin. Where did you meet her? I don’t want her taking advantage of you,” Najia approaches her cautiously. 

“I’m not a child, Mum. I’m a police officer! I can take care of myself!” She can her heart beating in her throat and her legs jostle underneath her as she fights the desire to run. 

“And the name thing— _’The Doctor’?_ Is that a… sex thing—“

“Mum!!”

Najia takes an exasperated breath as she searches for the right words. “If she’s making you do or... watch—“ 

“Oh my god. I’m not doin' this.” The word _watch_ bounces around her head and she feels hot spikes of embarrassment prickle around her neck. Getting caught having sex is one thing, providing your mother with the knowledge you’re a complete perv is something else entirely. She feels like she might start crying if the universe doesn’t swallow her whole. 

“Just— Are you safe, love?” There’s obvious worry in Najia’s eyes and Yaz feels a little guilty. For what, she’s not sure. “Are you happy?” But it quells the embarrassment for a moment. 

“Yes,” Yaz confirms to her, unable to rid the defensiveness from her voice. It’s truthful and also the biggest lie she’s ever told. 

“Well,” Najia smiles at last. “That’s all I want. I won’t tell your father. Think he’d have a heart attack,” she laughs. 

“Not ready to joke about it,” Yaz warns and Najia laughs again. “Ever. This never happened.”

“Okay. I’m sorry. You don’t have to go—” 

“I absolutely do,” Yaz interrupts, flight-or-fight still hot in her blood. 

“Her place?” There's still a spark of humour around her eyes which Yaz condemns with a threatening look. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” she says and then adds; “maybe.” She’s not sure when she’ll return but on her timeline but she knows it’ll be a good few weeks before she’s ready to look at her again.

The Doctor is stood in the hall exactly where Yaz had shut the door on her, face lighting up as soon as she sees Yaz and then glancing awkwardly between her and Najia. 

“Bye, love,” Najia says and then, "Doctor.” She gives a curt nod. 

“Bye… Yaz's mum.” It comes out confident but soon turns to a faint whisper as Yaz quickly grabs her arm and drags her away, shaking her head to tell her to shut up. 

********

“That were awful.” They’re facing forward, looking at their blurry reflections in the lift. Her knuckles rub over themselves in nervous twitches. “I’m so embarrassed,” she groans and rubs her temples, expecting some throw-away reassuring phrase form the Doctor; so much so that her protests are already primed on her lips. 

“What does it feel like?” The Doctor asks instead. That familiar question coming to surface once again. She looks at Yaz sheepishly, already blushing slightly, and Yaz releases what she’s asking. 

“Are you getting off on this? Me being embarrassed?” She can’t really tell if she’s actually annoyed or if the blush that suddenly becomes very real on the Doctor’s face makes up for it. _Guess I’m a hypocrite,_ she thinks. 

“N—I mean, not _your_ embarrassment… specifically,” she stumbles over her words a bit, trying to make it sound less… pervy? “I just—I…” She trails off.

“Are you… jealous?” Yaz asks and it confused them both as the cogs turn in their eyes. “…Do you wanna be embarrassed like that?” 

The Doctor’s mouth opens as if she’s too ashamed to confirm it but equally knows it’s too accurate to deny and so her she gapes for a moment before snapping her jaw shut. 

Yaz turns to face her fully in the little square lift. “That’s what you like it, isn’t it? Embarrassing yourself in front of me?” There's a domineering tone to her voice and the Doctor’s ears go a little pink, fuelling Yaz's confidence. “Is that what you were thinking about? When I had your trousers round your ankles and your cunt out for anyone to walk in on? You were thinking about how fucking humiliating that is, weren’t you?” 

The Doctor’s eyes go wide at Yaz's harsh words but nods nonetheless. “Yeah,” she whispers and for some reason looks smaller than she usually does.

“I bet you're wet right now thinking about it, aren’t you?” She asks and it’s like making the Doctor turn that shade of red makes her own embarrassment disappear. 

“Yes,” she croaks. 

Yaz moves behind her, stalking around like predator circling its prey, her hands suddenly sliding up to grope at the Doctor’s breasts over her shirt, evoking another shocked gasp. “Look at the numbers, Doctor.” 

_Four_.

Yaz nods over her shoulder to the lift numbers counting down. “Who knows who is gonna be on the other side of those doors when they open. And what will they see?” Yaz breaths into her ear, fingers finding hardened nipples through her clothes and pinching them deliberately. 

_Three_.

The Doctor rests her head back on Yaz's shoulder, eyes locked on to the flickering red numbers counting down impossibly slowly yet all too quickly at the same time. She’s squirming under Yaz's touch, desperate for more, pushing her chest out for more contact. 

_Two_. 

“The notable Doctor, so compromised, so needy,” she goads and pulls the Doctor’s earlobe into her mouth. The Doctor’s eyes slide shut for a second when she twists her nipples through her shirt. 

_One_. 

“What will people think?”

The Doctor lets out a half-gasp half-moan when her eyes open again and she looks at the flickering red light and Yaz's hands still haven’t left her chest.

_Zero_.

The lift slows and then stops with a shudder and the automated voice spills the ultimate threat. 

_Doors opening._

At the last second, as the metal doors trundle open, Yaz rips her hands away and takes a step back, leaving the Doctor alone to face whoever stands on the other side. Her face as red as anything, messy clothes over hardened nipples, hair ruffled— 

“Ryan?!” Is the last thing she expects the Doctor to say. 


	8. The Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yaz asks the Doctor if she wants to play a game

“You seem unusually quiet this evening.” Yaz's voice echos around the console room as she wanders into the circular space. The TARDIS hums soothingly around them but she’s stationary, suspended somewhere in deep space, sleeping in inky blackness. The Doctor looks up from the monitor she’s looking at and smiles a warm inviting smile, face lit up by amber crystals. Her chin tilts up as Yaz brushes a blonde strand of hair behind her ear, waiting for a kiss. “I don’t like it when you go quiet, Doctor,” she adds. The only reply she gets is the Doctor’s lips locking with hers. It's soft, painfully soft. The type of kiss that gets Yaz thinking about beginnings and middles and endings. She can feel the Doctor’s tongue tracing her bottom lip and then melding with her own in hot, slow patterns and she thinks kissing her could heal anything and everything. 

“Was it too much? In the lift?” She had been rough, grabbing her so suddenly; her words were abrasive; her fingers merciless. 

The Doctor’s hands are on her hips and she leans back on the console, pulling Yaz in to pin herself there. “No.” She dots a tiny kiss against Yaz's neck—“I mean, Ryan were a twist I weren’t expecting, I’ll admit that. But, no. Not too much”—and another and another, right up to Yaz's jaw. 

“So you enjoyed it?” Yaz's eyes flutter a little at the painfully distracting kisses. She can feel the Doctor nod her head in response and the image of her with her head flung back, nipples pinched between harsh fingers flash through Yaz's head. 

“Maybe just in a more… controlled environment, next time,” she adds. Yaz realises no matter what their dynamic is, being able to please the Doctor will always fill her with pride.

“Why? I mean, why do you like that?”

“I guess… It’s nice to give up control for a bit. Feel something so viscerally but have it be essentially meaningless. No one dies of embarrassment,” she smiles into her neck.

“I thought I were gonna,” Yaz chuckles. “So what y’just… like the thrill with none of the stakes?”

“S’pose. ’N I like it… when you tell me what to do.” Her tongue traces Yaz’s jaw and it makes her squirm. “It’s easier, I don’t have to think so much.” She pulls back from delicate skin. “Did you enjoy it?” She asks as one might ask a friend whether or not they enjoy peppermint tea. 

The question catches Yaz off guard a little. This isn’t what they do, talk about Yaz, discuss what Yaz thinks or likes. This is about the Doctor, about what makes her tick and what pushes her over the edge entirely. Of course, she enjoys it but, there’s always been some unwritten idea Yaz has convinced herself of that she is here simply for the Doctor. Here simply to show her the ropes, reignite her sexuality, allow her to figure herself out in this new body. How odd of them, to fuck before kissing and do both before even talking; to get outed to Yaz's mother before they’d ever been on a date or spent any real time alone together outside of these stolen moments. Yaz has hardly allowed herself to question their dynamic, the way they sway from lovers to friends to strangers. She supposes it’s the nature of time travellers to do everything in the wrong order. 

She licks her lips as she chooses her next words carefully. “There’s literally nothing I enjoy more.”

Neither can help the embarrassingly large smiles that beam from their expressions. Yaz bites her lip and runs both hands through the Doctor’s hair, pushing it away from her face.

“I could watch you all day.” It was intended to be seductive but comes out overly soppy and the Doctor’s eyebrows raise just a fraction as if she’d just heard a confession, so she slides a hand down to cup her face and lets her thumb probe at her bottom lip. 

The Doctor’s tongue wriggles against her thumb when she pushes it into her mouth. The texture is a strange mix of rough tastebuds and slippery smooth muscle. She can see the Doctor’s eyes go dark out of her periphery but her own focus is on the reddish lips wrapped around her knuckle. 

“D'you wanna play a game, Doctor?” Yaz asks and the Doctor’s brows raise again and she releases Yaz's thumb with a sucking pop. 

“I love a game. Absolutely love a game,” she replies, tone deadly serious but eyes brimming with enthusiasm. 

“Take your trousers off.” 

“Here?” The Doctor glances around the console room. They’re alone, obviously, but the size of the console room, the quiet humming of the machinery and the slight possibility of intrusion cast a spell of depravity over the request. 

“Up to you. Y'think the TARDIS has forgiven you enough she'd stop Ryan and Graham wandering in?” She asks and then, leaning in to whisper in the Doctor’s ear, “Or would you enjoy it if they saw you acting so shamelessly? Showing yourself off for me?” 

Yaz can see the Doctor’s throat move as she swallows. “I think we’re on pretty good terms now,” she mutters. 

“Good.” She takes a few steps backwards. “Take off your trousers.” 

There’s a spot of hesitation where the Doctor glances towards the hallway, double-checking no stirrings are coming from the boys' bedrooms before her hands go to her zipper. No matter how many times she’ll witness it, the Doctor undressing will always hypnotise. Always so careless, not worried at all about creasing her culottes or looking graceful. She kicks her legs, rather gangly and poorly balanced, as her smooth thighs glow under the light of the amber crystal. She leaves her underwear on which relieves Yaz because commanding her to take those off separately is another thrill entirely. 

It only takes a nod towards the little slip of fabric with a cocked eyebrow and the Doctor is blushing, pushing her underwear down in one rough movement and stepping out of them. She looks quite ridiculous in her shirts and socks but no pants or trousers and Yaz thinks it suits her perfectly. 

“Sit on the console.”

She does, hopping her bare ass over the metal side.

“Please don’t press anythin’,” Yaz adds with a smile. 

“Now that would be embarrassing,” the Doctor jokes, cutting the tension a bit. 

“Put your feet up on the sides.”

The tension comes back tenfold when the Doctor processes what Yaz just asked. She slips her socks off so the arches of her feet can grip the metal. It means her ankles tuck up against the backs of her thighs and her cunt is entirely exposed. She’s blushing when she realises how revealed she is and it sends butterflies to Yaz's belly. Is she nervous? She’s used to this, as used to it as she can be, but it feels different this time. Feels calculated and slower and transparent. She’s filling her role as commander and the more she asks the Doctor to expose herself, to embarrass herself, the more she exposes herself. With every demand, she pulls back the rug on her desires, her longings, her depravities, her perversions. 

“Spread yourself.”

When the Doctor does—parting her knees and using her free hand spread herself even wider—she accepts Yaz and greets her in the middle. 

All self-control and planning shot to death, Yaz surges forward. Taking the few steps it takes to greet the Doctor, she immediately drops to her knees. She licks an agonising line from her entrance to her clit, savouring the salty taste as wetness coats her tongue. She feels like a parched animal come into contact with a freshwater lagoon as she laps at her, frantically drawing out sighs and moans from the woman above her. _This wasn’t the plan._ The rational side of her brain whispers and she, after a dozen more attentive rolls of her tongue, pulls back to stand. Hands going straight to the hems on the Doctor’s shirts and pulling them off over her head along with her bra.

The Doctor looks dazed when she looks at her, pupils dark and mouth ajar with vigorous pants which she wishes to kiss away but she knows it will only distract her further. “Sonic?” 

“Coat pocket,” she replies and there’s a chuffed little smile playing at her lips when she thinks she knows what’s in store. 

Yaz ferrets around in the fabric for a moment— who needs pockets this deep?— before pulling out the screwdriver and handing it over to the Doctor. 

“I don’t need to set it, it’s the same buttons as last time.” 

“I know.” It’s Yaz's turn to smile as the Doctor’s face falls in confusion. “You’re gonna hold it against yourself, for as long as I decide—let's say, fifteen minutes—and you’re not gonna come until those fifteen minutes are up. And if you get too close, you have to stop. And the timer stops with you.”

The Doctor’s jaw hangs agape as she absorbs Yaz's words. “Why?” She asks after a tense pause. 

“Because,” Yaz chooses her words carefully, “I wanna watch you fuck yourself, in your TARDIS, with your sonic, so I know exactly what you look like next time you’re desperate on your own”—she smiles a sick smirk—“and I want to see you torture yourself, just because I told you to.” Her lips press into the valley between the Doctor’s collar bones, clothed hips flush against the Doctor’s wet core. 

The Doctor’s hips grind forwards a little, trying to get some friction on Yaz's jeans. She stops when Yaz looks down between them to observe with a scolding frown. “If you’re that desperate, maybe it’s best we do ten minutes instead.” The Doctor’s cheeks burn a little. 

“Are there winners and losers?” She asks it like a kid asking whether or not there’ll be cake at a birthday party. 

“If you come before the ten minutes, I get to drag out your next orgasm for as long as I like. But if you last, you get to do, or ask me to do to you, anything you like.” 

“Could I not do that anyway?” She looks genuinely confused. 

“I mean, yeah, technically, but it’s more reciprocal. I… Would you prefer a non-sexual prize?” She pulls back to give her an amused look. 

“No. Just checking. I like my odds.” She looks up as if she’s literally calculating them in her head which somehow doesn’t surprise Yaz at all. 

“Alright, confident, we’ll see. You ready?” Yaz pulls her phone out from her back pocket and sets a timer for ten minutes. They lock eyes as the Doctor flicks the sonic to its first setting and the room fills with another gentle humming. 

Her eyelids flicker a little when the vibrations make contact with her clit but their eyes don’t break away from one another; too caught up in a battle of wills the Doctor is destined to lose but for now, she hangs strong, eyes wide and cocky. The first jolt of the Doctor’s hips exhilarates Yaz beyond measure as the woman’s composure starts to falter. There’s an inkling of painful pleasure circling her expression as her eyebrows begin to contort slightly and her jaw slackens.

The seconds drop away on the timer so quickly Yaz appreciates how cruel time really is: for it to be slipping by so rapidly for her, and so painfully slowly for the Doctor. It’s only been sixty seconds there’s already a slight blush forming around the Doctor’s neck, her nipples are hard and her breathing is becoming laboured. 

“Two minutes in, Doctor,” Yaz updates her and the hoarseness of her own voice takes her by surprise. 

Her cockiness is beginning to falter as the first whines slip from her mouth but her eyes stay locked on Yaz's, now looking more pained than combative. Yaz feels a rush of heat at her core when the Doctor’s eyes finally slide shut, giving in to the waves of pleasure that wash over her body. 

“Good girl,” Yaz coos, half praise, half torment, “almost three minutes.” 

The Doctor’s hips start to buck against her own hand and a flurry of moans escape her lips, “I… I’m close.” 

“Y’need to stop then, don’t you?” The cruelty of her words sends a thrill right through her. 

The Doctor whines like she’s about to throw a tantrum before suddenly yanking the device away from herself as if granted a fleeting moment of sanity. She pants and her hips wriggle as if unaware their deprivation is due to her own hand. 

“Three minutes, forty-eight seconds. Good girl.” Yaz pauses the timer as soon as the sonic breaks contact with her clit. She runs soothing hands up and down the Doctor’s inner thigh and then lets her thumb slide through her slick heat. “Tell me when you’re ready to go again.” 

The Doctor shoots her a look as if to complain what she’s doing is entirely unfair. But these are the rules she agreed to so no such complaint leaves her lips. She’s not so far gone that bargaining is on the table just get. 

When Yaz's slow strokes of her thumb through her heat become too teasing she announces she’s ready to go again and Yaz wipes her fingers on her inner thigh before bringing her phone back up, tapping start as soon as the tip of the sonic touches her clit. 

That same brave face disappears twice as quickly this time and after a mere minute, the Doctor is back to screwing her eyes shut with her head thrown back. With the Doctor so occupied with her own little battle, Yaz decides to take a few steps back and appreciate the view. 

The Doctor sits upon the TARDIS console, knees up and spread wide, cunt glistening beneath the rapid vibrations the sonic emits against her clit. Hard rosy nipples rise and fall as she gasps and groans through her pleasure. Her hips start to rock slightly and Yaz notices as she adjusts the position of the sonic. “Keep it still. No cheatin,” she commands. If it were possible for one to roll one's eyes while they were shut, the Doctor surely would have. 

Yaz glances down at her phone for a second. Five minutes in. “Halfway. You have to stop if you’re close, Doctor,” she warns as the gyrations of the Doctor’s hips gain some intensity. The Doctor’s breathing is getting more and more ragged and Yaz can see her start to flutter. “I can see you clenching.” It’s meant as a threat but only seems to push her closer to the edge as she flutters and lets out a deep moan at the words, hips bucking faster and faster. 

“Stop, Doctor.” It’s deep and stern and it works because the Doctor rips the device away again with a pained cry. 

“Please, Yaz —How long was that?” She sounds desperate and looks frantic when her eyes open, a little sweaty with a few strands of blonde hair stuck to her temple. 

“Six minutes and four seconds.” 

She lets out a little disappointed groan, “are you sure?”

“Pretty sure,” she smiles and shows the Doctor the timer.

“Thought a was way better at keepin' track of time,” she pants with a baffled expression. 

Yaz laughs walking back up to plant a kiss on her knee and rub her fingers through her heat. She’s so sensitive her hips rock even at Yaz's gentle touch. The next four minutes are going to be torture and Yaz delights in the thought. “Whenever you’re ready, Time Lord,” she mocks. 

“I’m ready,” she sighs over Yaz's gliding fingers. Clearly a lie, but Yaz isn’t going to stop her if she wishes to sabotage herself. 

“Okay,” Yaz smirks as she brings her fingers to her lips lick clean. It causes the Doctor’s breath to hitch and send her a spiteful look. “Go.” 

There is no air of confidence this time. When the sonic makes contact she immediately lets her eyes shut and starts an almost continuous melody of moans. She’s propping herself up with her left hand and the bicep in her arm flexes under the strain. Yaz wanders briefly how many people have seen The Doctor like this over the centuries and concludes she must be one in a handful. 

“Oo, Yaz, Yaz, Yaz…” She looks angelic as her blonde locks curl and glow, dripped in amber, casting soft shadows over her face. 

“Shhh. Hold on, Doctor.” Yaz is utterly transfixed by the sight, her body weighed down by the desire. 

She’s frowning so hard, almost scowling with frustration at how close she is yet so far from being allowed to tumble. “I c—I can’t. Yaz…” 

“You can do it. Hold on,” she encourages, running soft fingers up and down her legs. Not really caring whether it’s unhelpful or not, she just needs to touch the Doctor; to feel the vibrations herself and the flickering spasms in her thighs. “So close, Doctor. Two minutes to go.” 

“No, No… Please, Yaz…” Watching a Time Lord beg you to speed up time is a unique feeling, to say the least, and Yaz lets the power wash over her along with the increasingly loud moans. She groans so loudly Yaz fears she may actually wake Ryan and Graham and the thought of them hearing her sends a nervous shiver down her spine. With a sudden gasp, she pulls the sonic away from herself, causing Yaz to stop the timer. “No, no, don’t stop it. I can keep going. Please,” she begs. Her eyes are glassy and her pupils wide and she leans forward as if to kiss Yaz. The Doctor trying to seduce her as an attempt to get her way is something Yaz definitely hasn’t seen before. 

“Keep going then,” Yaz counters, so close the words practically echo around her unkissed mouth. 

The Doctor flops back to her original position with an angry moan, turning the sonic back on and restarting the timer. Her head flies back straight away and her hips start an involuntary pattern of grinds. Yaz checks the timer and she only has a minute to go but by the sight of her, Yaz isn’t sure she’ll last. She's far too wound up and far too stubborn to stop for a fourth time, game be damned. 

“Thirty seconds, Doctor.” 

“F—Uhnnm…” The way her abdominal muscles tense and twitch and the vein on her neck bulges across her throat sends Yaz into a spiral and she can feel herself pulsing at the sight. “I—I can’t…” She’s so disoriented she probably has to idea how close the timer is to running out. 

“Ten. Nine. Eight…” The count down fills her face with relief and a little bit of panic when the seconds tick down painfully slowly.

"No-Nnnn.."

“Five. Four. Three…” Yaz places her outstretched palm over the centre of the Doctor’s chest, covering her sternum. “Two. One… You can come, Doctor.” 

The noise that erupts from her lungs on Yaz's command rings through her ears. Yaz thinks she’ll remember that noise until she dies. She clenches around nothing, body convulsing, goosebumps scattering across her chest. She collapses back onto her elbow, nocking some button or another, causing the TARDIS to grumble disapprovingly. Yaz feels the frantic rhythm of two hearts beating at double speed under her palm— _thump-thump thump-thump, thump-thump thump-thump_ —all because she allowed it. The sonic slips from her hand and clatters to the floor as she lays back, legs falling down off the sides of the console.

It takes her longer than usual to come down from her high, it being so intense, and Yaz stands with her hand on her chest feeling her heart rate slowly return to normal. She bends down to pick up the still-vibrating sonic and turns it off. Her senses are filled with the Doctor when she plants wet kisses across her thighs, cruelly planting one on her sensitive clit, and then her stomach on her way back up. 

When the Doctor sits up, she pushes a searing kiss into Yaz’s mouth. So hot, Yaz fears she'll burn. “Did I win?” She looks almost manic when she pulls back, eyes wide with enthusiasm. She looks so stunning Yaz can only kiss her again. 

“Congratulations,” she smiles when she pulls away, pushing her fingers back into blonde hair, relishing in the feeling of finally being able to touch her again. “Didn’t doubt you for a second.”

The Doctor scrunches up her nose in that way she always does when she feels anything intensely. “Yeah right. I was watching you right back, y’know?” Her eyebrows prick up teasingly and Yaz can feel herself blushing at the idea of the Doctor watching the lust fill her eyes. 

“Shut up. Your eyes were closed most of time,” she says, getting a little defensive and the Doctor chuckles. 

“Now,’ she muses, “what d'you think my prize should be?”

Yaz is filled with excitement, and a little bit of dread, at what’s to come. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry these updates are taking way longer than i thought, i keep getting distracted with other works lol. this work is almost done though!!


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